"*ti?iyfer. 



«♦ 



Glass 




Book.//?.. 



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A LIFE 



ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 




ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER, 

VICAR OF MORWENSTOW. 
Ftom (I Photngrupli hi/ II. Thorn, Butlc. 



THE 



VICAR OF MORWENSTOW. 









A LIFE OF 



ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER, M.A. 



,*> ' BY 

Sc BARING-GOULD, MA., 
it 

AUTHOR OF " THE ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT OF RELIGIOUS BELIEF,' 
"YORKSHIRE ODDITIES," ETC. 




NEW YORK : 
THOMAS WHITTAKER, 

2 AND 3 BIBLE HOUSE. 






Homme dtrange, original et superieur, mais qui, des I'enfance, portait 
en soi un germe de folie, et qui k la fin devint fou tout i fait; esprit admirable 
et mal ^quilibr^, en qui les sensations, les Amotions et les images etaient trop 
fortes; a la fois aveugle et perspicace, veritable poete et poete malade, qui 
au lieu des choses, voyait ses reves, vivait dans un roman et mourut sous le 
cauchemar qu'il s'^tait forge; incapable de se maitriser et de se conduire, 
prenant ses resolutions pour des actes, ses velleites pour des resolutions, et le 
role qu'il se donnait pour le caractfere qu'il croyait avoir; en tout dispropor- 
tionn^ au train courant du monde, se heurtant, se blessant, se salissant k 
toutes les bomes du chemin; ayant commis des extravagances, des injustices, 
et n^anmoins gardant jusqu'au bout la sensibility delicate et profonde, I'huma- 
nitd, I'attendrissement, le don des larmes, la faculte d'aimer, la passion de la 
justice, le sentiment religieux, I'enthousiasme, comme autant de racines vivaces 
04 fermente toujours la seve g^n^reuse pendant que la tige et les rameaux 
avortent, se d^forment ou se fl^trissent sous I'inclemence de I'air. — H. Tajne, 



lij TransFei 
JA 12 ^90» 



Stereotyped a7td printed by Rand, Avery, &' Co., Boston. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Birth of Mr. Hawker. — Dr. Hawker of Charles Church. — The 
Amended Hymn. — Robert S. Hawker runs away from School. 
— Boyish Pranks. — At Cheltenham. — Publishes his "Ten- 
drils." — At Oxford. — Marries. — The Stowe Ghost. — Robert 
Hawker and Mr. Jeune at Boscastle. — The Mazed Pigs. — 
Nanny Heale and the Potatoes. — "Records of the Western 
Shore." — The Bude Mermaid. — Takes his Degree. — Comes 
with his Wife to Morwenstow 9 

CHAPTER H. 

Ordination. — The Black Pig "Gyp." — Writes to the Bishop.— 
His Father appointed to Stratton. — He is given Morwen- 
stow. — The Waldron Lantern. — St. Morwenna. — The 
Children of Brychan. — St. Modwenna of Burton-on-Trent. — 
The North Cornish Coast. -^fTintagel. — Stowe. — Sir Bevil 
Granville. — Mr. Hawker's Discovery of the Granville Let- 
ters. — Those that remain. — Antony Payne the Giant. — 
Letters of Lady Grace. — Of Lord Lansdown — Cornish 
Dramatic Power. — Mr. Hicks of Bodmin 28 

CHAPTER HL 

Description of Morwenstow. — The Anerithmon Gelasma. — Source 
of the Tamar. — Tonacombe. — Morwenstow Church. — Nor- 
man Chevron Moulding. — Chancel. — Altar. — Shooting Rub- 
bish. — The Manning Bed. — The Yellow Poncho. — The 
Vicarage. — Mr. Tom Knight. — The Stag Robin Hood.— 
Visitors. — Silent Tower of Bottreaux. — The Pet of Boscastle. 56 

5 



6 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER IV. 

PAGE 

Mr. Hawker's Politics. — Election of 1857. — His Zeal for the La- 
borers. — " The Poor Man and his Parish Church." — Letter 
to a Landlord. — Death of his Man Tape. — Kindness to the 
Poor. — Verses over his Door. — Reckless Charity. — Hospi- 
tality. — A Break-down. — His Eccentric Dress. — The Devil 
and his Barn. — His Ecclesiastical Vestments. — Dislike of 
Ritualists. — Ceremonial. — The Nine Cats. — The Church 
Garden. — Kindness to Animals. — The Rooks and Jack- 
daws. — The Well of St. John. — Letter to a Young Man 
entering the University 87 

CHAPTER V. 

The Inhabitants of Morwenstow in 1834. — Cruel Coppinger. — 
Whips the Parson of Kilkhampton. — Gives Tom Tape a 
Ride. — Tristam Pentire. — Parminter and his Dog Satan. — 
The Ganger's Pocket. — Wrecking. — The Wrecker and the 
Ravens. — The Loss of the "Margaret Quail." — The Wreck 
of the "Ben Coolan." — "A Croon on Hennacliff." — Letters 
concerning Wrecks. — The Donkeys and the Copper Ore. — 
The Ship " Morwenna." — Flotsam and Jetsam. — Wrecks on 
Nov. 14, 1875. — Bodies in Poundstock Church. — The Loss 
of the "Caledonia." — The Wreck of the "Phoenix" and 
of the "Alonzo" 114 

CHAPTER VL 

Wellcombe. — Mr. Hawker Postman to Wellcombe. — The Miss 
Kitties. — Advertisement of Roger Giles. — Superstitions. — 
The Evil Eye. — The Spiritual j^ther. — The Vicar's Pigs 
bewitched. — Horse killed by a Witch. — He finds a lost 
Hen. — A Lecture against Witchcraft. — Its Failure. — An 
Encounter with the Pixies. — Curious Picture of a Pixie 
Revel. — The Fairy Ring. — Antony Cleverdon and the Mer- 
maids 157 

CHAPTER VIL 

Condition of the Church last Century. — Parson Radcliffe. — The 
Death of a Pluralist. — Opposition Mr. Hawker met with. — 
The Bryanites. — Hunting the Devil. — Bill Martin's Prayer- 



CONTENTS. 7 

PAGE 

meeting. — Mr. Pengelly and the Candle-end. — Cheated by a 

Tramp. — Mr. Hawker and the Dissenters. — Mr. B 's 

Pew. — A Special Providence over the Church. — His Prayer 
when threatened with the Loss of St. John's Well. — Objec- 
tion to Hysterical Religion. — Mr. Vincent's Hat. — Regard 
felt for him by old Pupils. — " He did not appreciate me." — 
Modryb Marya. — A Parable. — A Carol. — Love of Chil- 
dren. — Angels. — A Sermon, " Here am I " 178 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Vicar of Morwenstow as a Poet. — His Epigrams. — The 
"Carol of the Pruss." — " Down with the Church." — The 
" Quest of the Sangreal." — Editions of his Poems. — Ballads. 
— The "Song of the Western Men." — The "Cornish Moth- 
er's Lament." — "A Thought." — Churchyards 214 

CHAPTER IX. 

Restoration of Morwenstow Church. — The Shingle Roof. — The 
First Ruridecanal Synod. — The Weekly Offertory. — Corre- 
spondence with Mr. Walter. — On Alms. — Harvest Thanks- 
giving. — The School. — Mr. Hawker belonged to no Party. — 
His Eastern Proclivities. — Theological Ideas. — Baptism. — 
Original Sin. — The Eucharist. — Intercession of Saints. — The 
Blessed Virgin. — His Preaching. — Some Sermons .... 230 

CHAPTER X. 

The First Mrs. Hawker. — Her Influence over her Husband. — 
Anxiety about her Health. — His Fits of Depression. — Letter 
on the Death of Sir Thomas Acland. — Reads Novels to his 
Wife. — His Visions. — Mysticism. — Death of his Wife. — 
Unhappy Condition. — Burning of his Papers. — Meets with 
his Second Wife. — The Unburied Dead. — Birth of his 
Child. — Ruinous Condition of his Church. — Goes to Lon- 
don. — Resumes Opium-eating. — Sickness. — Goes to Bos- 
castle. — To Plymouth. — His Death and Funeral. — Con- 
clusion 254 



LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN 
HAWKER. 



CHAPTER I. 

Birth of Mr. Hawker. — Dr. Hawker of Charles Church. — The Amended 
Hymn. — Robert S. Hawker runs away from School. — Boyish Pranks. — 
At Cheltenham. — Publishes his " Tendrils." — At Oxford. — Marries. — 
The Stowe Ghost. — Robert Hawker and Mr. Jeune at Boscastle. — The 
Mazed Pigs. — Nanny Heale and the Potatoes. — " Records of the Western 
Shore." — The Bude Mermaid. — Takes his Degree. — Comes with his 
Wife to Morwenstow. 

Robert Stephen Hawker was born at Stoke 
Damerel on Dec. 3, 1804, and was baptized there in 
the parish church. His father, Mr. Jacob Stephen 
Hawker, was at that time a medical man, practising 
at Plymouth. He afterwards was ordained at Altar- 
nun, and spent thirty years as curate and then vicar 
of Stratton in Cornwall, where he died in 1845. Mr. 
J. S. Hawker was the son of the famous Dr. Hawker, 
incumbent of Charles Church in Plymouth, author of 
" Morning and Evening Portions," a man as remark- 
able for his abilities as he was for his piety. 

Young Robert was committed to his grandfather 
to be educated. The doctor, after the death of his 

9 



lO LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

wife, lived in Plymouth with his daughter, a widow, 
Mrs. Hodgson, at whose expense Robert was edu- 
cated. 

The profuse generosity, the deep religiousness, and 
the eccentricity of the doctor, had their effect on the 
boy, and traced in his opening mind and forming 
character deep lines, which were never effaced. Dr. 
Hawker had a heart always open to appeals of poverty, 
and in his kindness he believed every story of distress 
which was told him, and hastened to relieve it without 
inquiring closely whether it were true or not ; nor did 
he stop to consider whether his own pocket could 
afford the generosity to which his heart prompted 
him. His wife, as long as she lived, found it a dif- 
ficult matter to keep house. In winter, if he came 
across a poor family without sufficient coverings on 
their beds, he would run home, pull the blankets off 
his own bed, and run with them over his arm to the 
house where they were needed. 

He had an immense following of pious ladies, who 
were sometimes troublesome to him. " I see what 
it is," said the doctor in one of his sermons: "you 
ladies think to reach heaven by hanging on to my 
coat-tails. I will trounce you all : I will wear a 
spencer." 

In Charles Church the evening service always 
closed with the singing of the hymn, " Lord, dismiss 
us with thy blessing," composed by Dr. Hawker him- 
self. His grandson did not know the authorship of 
the hymn : he came to the doctor one day with a 
paper in his hand, and said, " Grandfather, I don't 
altogether like that hymn, ' Lord, dismiss us with thy 



THE AMENDED HYMN. II 

blessing : ' I think it might be improved in metre and 
language, and would be better if made somewhat 
longer." 

"Oh, indeed!" said Dr. Hawker, getting red; 
" and pray, Robert, what emendations commend them- 
selves to your precocious wisdom } " 

" This is my improved version," said the boy, and 
read as follows : — 

" * Lord, dismiss us with thy blessing, 
High and low, and rich and poor: 
May we all, thy fear possessing. 
Go in peace, and sin no more ! 

Lord, requite not as we merit ; 

Thy displeasure all must fear : 
As of old, so let thy Spirit 

Still the dove's resemblance bear. 

May that Spirit dwell within us ! 

May its love our refuge be ! 
So shall no temptation win us 

From the path that leads to thee. 

So when these our lips shall wither, 

So when fails each earthly tone. 
May we sing once more together 

Hymns of glory round thy throne ! ' 

" Now listen to the old version, grandfather : — 

" ' Lord, dismiss us with thy blessing ; 
Fill our hearts with joy and peace ; 
Let us each, thy love possessing. 
Triumph in redeeming grace. 

Oh, refresh us. 
Travelling through this wilderness ! 



12 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Thanks we give, and adoration, 

For the gospel's joyous sound ; 
May the founts of thy salvation 

In our hearts and lives abound ! 
May thy presence 

With us evermore be found ! ' 

" This one is crude and flat ; don't you think so, 
grandfather ? " 

" Crude and flat, sir ! Young puppy, it is mine ! 
I wrote that hymn." 

"Oh! I beg your pardon, grandfather; I did not 
know that : it is a very nice hymn indeed ; but — 
but " — and, as he went out of the door, — " mine is 
better." 

Robert was sent to a boarding-school by his grand- 
father ; where, I do not know, nor does it much mat- 
ter, for he only staid there one night. He arrived 
in the evening, and was delivered over by the doctor 
to a very godly but close-fisted master. Robert did 
not approve of being sent supperless to bed, still less 
did he approve of the bed and bedroom in which he 
was placed. 

Next morning the dominie was shaving at his 
window, when he saw his pupil, with his portmanteau 
on his back, striding across the lawn, with reckless 
indifference to the flower-beds, singing at the top of 
his voice, " Lord, dismiss us with thy blessing." 
He shouted after him from the window, but Robert 
was deaf. The boy flung his portmanteau over the 
hedge, jumped after it, and was seen no more at that 
school. 

He was then put with the Rev. Mr. Laffer, at 



BOYISH PRANKS. 13 

Liskeard. Mr. Laffer was the son of the squire at 
Altarnun : he afterwards became incumbent of St. 
Gennys. At this time he was head master of the 
Liskeard Grammar School. There Robert Hawker 
was happy. He spent his hoHdays either with his 
father at Stratton, or with his grandfather and aunt 
at Plymouth. At Stratton he was the torment of an 
old fellow who kept a shop in High Street, where he 
sold groceries, crockery, and drapery. One day he 
slipped into the house when the old man was out, 
and found a piece of mutton roasting before the fire. 
Robert took it off the crook, hung it up in the shop, 
and placed a bundle of dips before the fire, to roast 
in its place. 

He would dive into the shop, catch hold of the end 
of thread that curled out of the tin in which the 
shopkeeper kept the ball of twine with which he tied 
up his parcels, and race with it in his hand down the 
street, then -up a lane and down another, till he had 
uncoiled it all, and laced Stratton in a cobweb of 
twine, tripping up people as they went along the 
streets. The old fellow had not the wits to cut the 
thread, but held on like grim death to the tin, whilst 
the ball bounced and uncoiled within it, swearing at 
the plague of a boy, and wishing him " back to skule 
again." 

" I doan't care whether I ring the bells on the 
king's birthday," said the parish clerk, another victim 
of the boy's pranks ; " but if I never touch the ropes 
again, I'll give a peal when Robert goes to skule, and 
leaves Stratton folks in peace." 

As may well be believed, the mischievous, high- 



14 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

spirited boy played tricks on his brothers and sisters. 
The clerk was accustomed to read in church, " I am 
an alien unto my mother's children," pronouncing 
"alien" as "a lion." "Ah ! " said Mrs. Hawker, "that 
means Robert : he is verily a lion unto his mother's 
children." 

" I do not know how it is," said his brother one 
day : " when I go out with Robert nutting, he gets 
all the nuts ; and when I go out rabbiting, he gets all 
the rabbits ; and when we go out fishing together, he 
catches all the fish." 

"Come with me fishing to-morrow, Claud," said 
Robert, " and see if you don't have luck." 

Next day he surreptitiously fastened a red herring 
to his brother's hook ; and, when it was drawn out of 
the water, "There!" exclaimed Robert, "you are 
twice as lucky as I am. My fish are all raw ; and 
yours is ready cleaned, smoked, and salted." 

The old vicarage at Stratton is now pulled down : 
it stood at the east end of the chancel, and the garden 
has been thrown into the burial-ground. 

At Stratton he got one night into the stable of the 
surgeon, hogged the mane, and painted the coat of 
his horse like a zebra with white and black oil paint. 
Then he sent a message to the doctor, as if from a 
great house at a distance, requiring his immediate 
attendance. The doctor was obliged to saddle and 
gallop off the horse in the condition in which he 
found it, thinking that there was not time for him to 
stay till the coat was cleaned of paint. 

His pranks at Plymouth led at last to his grand- 
father refusing to have him any longer in his house. 



THE OLD LADIES. 1 5 

Robert held the good pious ladies, who swarmed 
round the doctor, in aversion. It was the time of 
sedan-chairs ; and trains of old spinsters and dowagers 
used to fill the street in their boxes between bearers, 
on the occasions of missionary teas, Dorcas meetings, 
and private expositions of the Word, Robert used 
to open the house-door, and make a sign to the bear- 
ers to stop. A row of a dozen or more sedans were 
thus arrested in the street. Then the boy would go 
to the sedans in order, open the window, and, thrust- 
ing his head in, kiss the fair but venerable occupant, 
and then start back in mock dismay, exclaiming, " A 
thousand pardons ! I thought you were my mother. 
I am sorry. How could I have made such a mistake, 
you are so much older ? " 

Sometimes, with the gravest face, he would tell 
the bearers that the lady was to be conveyed to the 
Dockyard, or the Arsenal, or to the Hoe ; and she 
would find herself deposited among anchors and 
ropes, or cannon-balls, or on the windy height over- 
looking the bay, instead of at the doctor's door. 

Two old ladies, spinster sisters, Robert believed 
were setting their caps at the doctor, then a widower. 
He took an inveterate dislike to them, and their in- 
sinuating, oily manner with his grandfather ; and he 
worried them out of Plymouth. 

He did it thus. One day he called on one of the 
leading physicians in Plymouth, and told him that 
Miss Hephzibah Jenkins had slipped on a piece of 
orange-peel, broken her leg, and needed his instant 
attention. He arrived out of breath with running, 
very red ; and, it being known that the Misses Jen- 



1 6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

kins were intimate friends of Dr. Hawker, the phy- 
sician went off at once to the lady, with splints and 
bandages. 

Next day another medical man was sent to see 
Miss Sidonia Jenkins. Every day a fresh surgeon 
or physician arrived to bind up legs and arms and 
heads, or revive the ladies from extreme prostration, 
pleurisy, inflammation of the lungs, heart-complaint, 
&c., till every medical man in Plymouth, Stonehouse, 
and Devonport had been to the house of the spinsters. 
When they were exhausted, an undertaker was sent 
to measure the old ladies for their coffins ; and next 
day a hearse drew up at their door to convey them to 
their graves, which had been dug according to order 
in the St. Andrew's churchyard. 

This was more than the ladies could bear. They 
shut up the house, and left Plymouth. But this was 
also the end of Robert's stay with his grandfather. 
The good doctor had endured a great deal, but he 
would not put up with this ; and Robert was sent to 
Stratton, to his father. 

When the boy left school at Liskeard, he was 
articled to a lawyer, Mr. Jacobson, at Plymouth, a 
wealthy man in good practice, first cousin to his 
mother; but this sort of profession did not at all 
approve itself to Robert's taste, and he only remained 
with Mr. Jacobson a few months. Whether he then 
turned his thoughts towards going into holy orders, 
cannot be told ; but he persuaded his aunt, Mrs. 
Hodgson, to send him to Cheltenham Grammar 
School. 

The boy had great abilities, and a passionate love 



AT OXFORD. 17 

of books, but wanted application. He read a great 
deal, but his reading was desultory. He was, how- 
ever, a good classic scholar. To mathematics he 
took a positive dislike, and never could master a 
proposition in Euclid. At Cheltenham he wrote 
some poems, and published them in a little book 
entitled " Tendrils, by Reuben." They appeared in 
182 1, when he was seventeen years old. 

From Cheltenham, Robert S. Hawker went to 
Oxford, 1823, and entered at Pembroke ; but his 
father was only a poor curate, and unable to maintain 
him at the university. Robert was determined to 
finish his course there. He could not command the 
purse of his aunt Mrs. Hodgson, who was dead ; and 
when he retired to Stratton for his long vacation in 
1824, his father told him that it was impossible for 
him to send him back to the university. 

But Robert Hawker had made up his mind that 
finish his career at college he would. He had re- 
course to the following expedient : — 

There lived at Whitstone, near Holdsworthy, four 
Miss Tans, daughters of Col. Fans. They had been 
left with an annuity of two hundred pounds apiece, 
as well as lands and a handsome 'place. At the time 
when Mr. Jacob Hawker announced to his son that a 
return to Oxford was impossible, the four ladies were 
at Efford, near Bude, a farm and house leased from 
Sir Thomas Acland. Directly that Robert Hawker 
learnt his father's decision, without waiting to put 
on his hat, he ran from Stratton to Bude, arrived hot 
and blown at Efford, and proposed to Miss Charlotte 
I'ans to become his wife. The lady was then aged 



1 8 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

forty-one, one year older than his mother ; she was 
his godmother, and had taught him his letters. 

Miss Charlotte I'ans accepted him ; and they were 
married in November, when he was twenty. Robert 
S. Hawker and his wife spent their honeymoon at 
Morwenstow, in Combe Cottage. During that time 
he was visited by Sir William Call and his brother 
George. They dined with him, and told ghost-stories. 
Sir William professed his utter disbelief in spectral 
appearances, in spite of the most convincing, prop- 
erly authenticated cases adduced by Mr. Hawker. 
It was late when the two gentlemen rose to leave. 
Their course lay down the steep hill by old Stowe. 
The moment that they were gone, Robert got a sheet, 
and an old iron spoon which he had dug up in the 
garden, and which bore on it the date 1702. He 
slipped a tinder-box and a bottle of choice brandy, 
which had belonged to Col. I'ans, into his pocket, 
and ran by a short cut to a spot where the road was 
overshadowed by trees, at the bottom of the Stowe 
• hill, which he knew the two young men must pass. 
He had time to throw the sheet over himself, strike 
a light, fill the great iron spoon with salt and brandy, 
and ignite it, before Sir William and his brother 
came up. 

In the dense darkness of the wood, beside the 
road, they suddenly saw a ghastly figure, illumined 
by a lambent blue flame which danced in the air 
before it. They stood rooted to the spot, petrified 
with fear. Slowly the apparition stole towards them. 
They were too frightened to cry out and run. Sud- 
denly, with an unearthly howl, the spectre plunged 



THE STOWE GHOST. 1 9 

something metallic into the breast of Sir William 
Call's yellow nankeen waistcoat, the livid flame fell 
around him in drops, and all vanished. 

When he came to himself. Sir William found an 
iron spoon in his bosom. He and his brother, much 
alarmed, and not knowing what to think of what they 
had seen, returned to Combe. They knocked at the 
door. Hawker put his head with nightcap on out of 
the bedroom-window, and asked who were disturbing 
his rest. They begged to be admitted : they had 
something of importance to communicate. He came 
down stairs in a dressing-gown, and introduced them 
to his parlor. There the iron spoon was examined. 
"It is very ancient," said Sir William : "the date on 
it is 1702, — just the time when Stowe was pulled 
down." 

"It smells very strong of brandy," said George 
Call. 

Robert Hawker's twinkling eye and twitching 
mouth revealed the rest. 

"Ton my word," said Sir William Call, "you 
nearly killed me ; and, what is more serious, nearly 
made me believe in spirits." 

"Ah!" added Robert dryly, "you probably would 
believe in them when they ran in a river of flame 
over your yellow nankeen waistcoat." 

The marriage with Charlotte Fans took place on 
Nov. 6, 1824. On Hawker's return to Oxford with 
his wife after the Christmas vacation (and he took 
her there, riding behind him on a pillion), he was 
obliged, on account of being married, to migrate 
from Pembroke to Magdalen Hall. About this time 



20 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

he made acquaintance with Jeune and Jacobson, the 
former afterwards Bishop of Peterborough, the latter 
Bishop of Chester. Jeune, and afterwards Jacobson, 
came down into Cornwall to pay him a visit in the 
long vacation of 1825 ; and Mr. Jeune acted as 
groomsman at the marriage of Miss Hawker to Mr. 
Kingdon. It was on the occasion of this visit of 
Mr. Jeune to Robert Hawker that they went over 
together to Boscastle, and there performed the prank 
described in "Footprints of Former Men in Corn- 
wall." The two young men put up in the little inn 
of Joan Treworgy, entitled "The Ship." The inn 
still exists ; but it is rebuilt, and has become more 
magnificent in its accommodation and charges. 

" We proceeded to confer about beds for the night, 
and, not without misgivings, inquired if she could 
supply a couple of those indispensable places of re- 
pose. A demur ensued. All the gentry in the 
town, she declared, were accustomed to sleep two in 
a bed ; and the officers that travelled the country, and 
stopped at her house, would mostly do the same : 
but, however, if we commanded two beds for only 
two people, two we must have ; only, although they 
were both in the same room, we must certainly pay 
for two, and sixpence apiece was her regular price. 
We assented, and then went on to entreat that we 
might dine. She graciously agreed ; but to all ques- 
tions as to our fare her sole response was, ' Meat, — 
meat and taties. Some call 'em,' she added, in a 
scornful tone, 'purtaties; but we always says taties 
here.' The specific differences between beef, mutton, 
veal, &c., seemed to be utterly or artfully ignored ; 



THE MYSTERIOUS DINNER. 21 

and to every frenzied inquiry her calm, inexorable 
reply was, 'Meat, — nice wholesome meat and taties." 

"In due time we sat down in that happy ignorance 
as to the nature of our viands which a French cook 
is said to desire ; and, although we both made a not 
unsatisfactory meal, it is a wretched truth that by no 
effort could we ascertain what it was that was roasted 
for us that day by widow Treworgy, and which we 
consumed. Was it a piece of Boscastle baby ? as I 
suggested to my companion. The question caused 
him to rush out to inquire again ; but he came back 
baffled, and shouting, * Meat and taties.' There was 
not a vestige of bone, nor any outline that could 
identify the joint; and the not unsavory taste was 
something like tender veal. It was not till years 
afterwards that light was thrown on our mysterious 
dinner that day by a passage which I accidentally 
turned up in an ancient history of Cornwall. There- 
in I read, ' that the sillie people of Bouscastle and 
Boussiney do catch in the summer seas divers young 
soyles (seals), which, doubtful if they be fish or flesh, 
conynge housewives will nevertheless roast, and do 
make thereof savory meat.' " 

Very early next morning, before any one else was 
awake, Hawker and Jeune left the inn, and, going to 
all the pigsties of the place, released their occupants. 
They then stole back to their beds. 

" We fastened the door, and listened for results. 
The outcries and yells were fearful. By and by 
human voices began to mingle with the tumult : 
there were shouts of inquiry and surprise, then sounds 
of expostulation and entreaty, and again ' a storm of 



22 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

hate and wrath and wakening fear.' At last the 
tumult reached the ears of our hostess, Joan Tre- 
worgy. We heard her puff and blow, and call for 
Jim. At last, after waiting a prudent time, we 
thought it best to call aloud for shaving-water, and 
to inquire with astonishment into the cause of that 
horrible disturbance which had roused us from our 
morning sleep. This brought the widow in hot haste 
to our door. 'Why, they do say, captain,' was her 
doleful response, 'that all the pegs up-town have 
a-rebelled, and they've a-be, and let one the wother 
out, and they be all a-gwain to sea, hug-a-mug, 
bang!'" 

Some years after, when Mr. Jeune was Dean of 
Magdalen Hall, Mr. Hawker went up, to take his 
M. A. degree. The dean on that occasion was, ac- 
cording to custom, leading a gentleman commoner 
of the same college, a very corpulent man, to the 
vice-chancellor, to present him for his degree, with a 
Latin speech. Hawker was waiting his turn. The 
place was crowded, and the fat gentleman commoner 
was got with difficulty through the throng to the 
place. Hawker leaned towards the dean, as he was 
leading and endeavoring to guide this unwieldy can- 
didate, who hung back, and got hitched in the crowd, 
and said in a low tone, — 

"Why, your peg's surely mazed, maister." 

When the crowd gave way, and the dean reached 
the vice-chancellor's chair, he was in spasms of un- 
controllable laughter. 

At Oxford Mr. Robert Hawker made acquaintance 
with Macbride, afterwards head of the college ; and 
the friendship lasted through life. 



NANNY HE ALE'S CROCK. 23 

In after-years, when Jeiine, Jacobson, and Macbride 
were heads of colleges, Robert S. Hawker went up 
to Oxford in his cassock and gown. The cassock 
was then not worn, as it sometimes is now, except 
by heads of colleges and professors. Mr. Hawker 
was therefore singular in his cassock. He was out- 
side St. Mary's one day, with Drs. Jeune, Jacobson, 
and Macbride, when a friend, looking at him in his 
gown and cassock, said, " Why, Hawker, one would 
think you wanted to be taken for a head." 

"About the last thing I should like to be taken 
for, as heads go," was his ready reply, with a roguish 
glance at his three companions. 

Mr. Hawker has related another of his mischievous 
tricks when an undergraduate. There was a poor 
old woman named Nanny Heale, who passed for a 
witch. Her cottage was an old decayed hut, roofed 
with turf. One night Robert Hawker got on the 
roof, and, looking down the chimney, saw her crouch- 
ing over her turf fire, watching with dim eyes an iron 
crock, or round vessel, filled with potatoes, that were 
simmering in the heat. This utensil was suspended 
by its swing handle to an iron bar that went across 
the chimney. Hawker let a rope, with an iron hook 
at the end, slowly and noiselessly down the chimney, 
and, unnoted by poor Nanny's blinking sight, caught 
the handle of the caldron ; and it, with its mealy 
contents, began to ascend the chimney slowly and 
majestically. 

Nanny, thoroughly aroused by this unnatural pro- 
ceeding of her old iron vessel, peered despairingly 
after it, and shouted at the top of her voice, — 



24 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

" Massy 'pon my sinful soul ! art gawn off — taties 
and all ? " 

The vessel was quietly grasped, and carried down 
in hot haste, and planted upright outside the cottage 
door. A knock, given on purpose, summoned the 
inmate, who hurried out, and stumbled over, as she 
afterwards interpreted the event, her penitent crock. 

** So, then," was her joyful greeting, — " so, then ! 
theer't come back to holt, then ! Ay, 'tis a-cold out 
o' doors." 

Good came out of evil : for her story, which she 
rehearsed again and again, with all the energy and 
persuasion of truth, reached the ears of the parochial 
authorities ; and they, thinking that old Nanny's wits 
had failed her, gave an additional shilling a week to 
her allowance. 

His vacations were spent at Whitstone, or at Ivy 
Cottage, near Bude. At Whitstone he built himself 
a bark shanty in the wood, and set up a life-sized 
carved wooden figure, which he had procured in 
Oxford, at the door, to keep it. The figure he called 
"Moses." It has long since disappeared, but the 
bark house remains. 

In this hut he was wont to read. His meals were 
brought out there to him. His intervals of work 
were spent in composing ballads on Cornish legends, 
afterwards published at Oxford in his " Records of 
the Western Shore," 1832. They have all been re- 
printed in later editions of his poems. One of these, 
his " Song of the Western Men," was adapted to the 
really ancient burden : — 



RELIGIOUS IMPRESSIONS. 25 

" And shall they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen, 
And shall Trelawny die ? 
Here's twenty thousand Cornish men 
Will know the reason why ! " 

These verses have so much of the antique flavor, 
that Sir Walter Scott, in one of his prefaces to a 
later edition of the Border Minstrelsy, refers to them 
as a " remarkable example of the lingering of the 
true ballad spirit in a remote district ; " and Mr. 
Hawker possessed a letter from Lord Macaulay in 
which he admitted that, until undeceived by the 
writer, he had always supposed the whole song to be 
of the time of the Bishops' trial. 

At Ivy Cottage he had formed for himself a perch 
on the edge of the cliff, where he could be alone with 
his books, his thoughts, and, as he would say with 
solemnity, "with God." 

Perhaps few thought then how deep were the reli- 
gious impressions in the joyous heart, full of exuber- 
ant spirits, of the young Oxford student. All people 
knew of him was, that he was remarkable for his 
beauty, for his brightness of manner, his overflowing 
merriment, and love of playing tricks. But there 
was a deep undercurrent of religious feeling setting 
steadily in one direction, which was the main govern- 
ing stream of his life. Gradually this emerges into 
sight, and becomes recognized. Then it was known 
to few except his wife and her sisters. 

At this period of his life, it is chiefly his many 
jests which have lingered on in the recollection of 
his friends and relations. 



26 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

One absurd hoax that he played on the supersti- 
tious people of Bude must not be omitted. 

At full moon in the July of 1825 or 1826, he swam 
or rowed out to a rock at some little distance from 
the shore, plaited seaweed into a wig, which he threw 
over his head, so that it hung in lank streamers half- 
way down his back, enveloped his legs in an oilskin 
wrap, and, otherwise naked, sat on the rock, flashing 
the moonbeams about from a hand-mirror, and sang 
and screamed till attention was arrested. Some 
people passing along the cliff heard and saw him, 
and ran into Bude, saying that a mermaid with a 
fish's tail was sitting on a rock, combing her hair, 
and singing. 

A number of people ran out on the rocks and 
along the beach, and listened awe-struck to the sing- 
ing and disconsolate wailing of the mermaid. Pres- 
ently she dived off the rock, and disappeared. 

Next night crowds of people assembled to look 
out for the mermaid ; and in due time she re-appeared, 
and sent the moon flashing in their faces from her 
glass. Telescopes were brought to bear on her ; but 
she sang on unmoved, braiding her tresses, and utter- 
ing remarkable sounds, unlike the singing of mortal 
throats which have been practised in do-re-mi. 

This went on for several nights ; the crowd grow- 
ing greater, people arriving from Stratton, Kilkhamp- 
ton, and all the villages round, till Robert Hawker 
got very hoarse with his nightly singing, and rather 
tired of sitting so long in the cold. He therefore 
wound up the performance one night with an unmis- 
takable " God save the King," then plunged into the 



COMES TO MORWENSTOW. 27 

waves, and the mermaid never again revisited the 
"sounding shores of Bude." 

Miss Fanny Fans was a late riser. Her brother- 
inJaw, to break her of this bad habit, was wont to 
throw open her window early in the morning, and 
turn in a troop of setters, whose barking, yelping, 
and frantic efforts to get out of the room again, 
effectually banished sleep from the eyes of the fair 
but somewhat aged occupant. 

Efford Farm had been sub-let to a farmer, who 
broke the lease by ploughing up and growing crops 
on land which it had been stipulated should be kept 
in grass. 

Sir Thomas Acland behaved with great generosity 
in the matter. He might have reclaimed the farm 
without making compensation to the ladies ; but he 
allowed them three hundred pounds a year as long as 
they lived, took the farm away, and re-leased it to a 
more trusty tenant. 

Mr. Robert Stephen Hawker obtained the Newde- 
gate in 1827 :^ he took his degree of B.A. in 1828, 
and then came with his wife to Morwenstow, a place 
for which even then he had contracted a peculiar 
love, and there read for holy orders. 

" Welcome, wild rock and lonely shore ! 
Where round my days dark seas shall roar, 
And thy gray fane, Morwenna, stand 
The beacon of the Eternal Land." 

1 The poem, "Pompeii," has been reprinted in his Echoes of Old Corn- 
wall, Ecclesia, &c. 



28 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 



CHAPTER II. 

Ordination. — The Black Pig, " Gyp." — Writes to the Bishop. — His Father 
appointed to Stratton. — He is given Morwenstow. — The Waldron Lan- 
thorn. — St. Morwenna. — The Children of Brychan. — St. Modwenna of 
Burton-on-Trent. — The North Cornish Coast. — Tintagel. — Stowe. — 
Sir Bevil Granville. — Mr. Hawker's discovery of the Granville Letters. — 
Those that remain. — Antony Payne the Giant. — Letters of Lady Grace. 
— Of Lord Lansdovt^n. — Cornish Dramatic Power. — Mr. Hicks of Bod- 



RoBERT Stephen Hawker was ordained deacon 
in 1829, when he was twenty-five years old, by the 
Bishop of Exeter, to the curacy of North Tamerton, 
of which the Rev. Mr. Kingdon was non-resident 
incumbent. He threw two cottages into one, and 
added a veranda and rooms, and made himself a com- 
fortable house, which he called Trebarrow. He was 
ordained priest in 1831, by the Bishop of Bath and 
Wells. He took his M.A. degree in 1836. He had 
a favorite rough pony which he rode, and a black pig 
of Berkshire breed, well cared for, washed, and curry- 
combed, which ran beside him when he went out for 
walks, and paid visits. Indeed, the pig followed him 
into ladies' drawing-rooms, not always to their satis- 
faction. The pig was called Gyp, and was intelligent 
and obedient. If Mr. Hawker saw that those whom 
he visited were annoyed at the intrusion of the pig, 



THE CLOSING HOUR. 29 

he would order it out ; and the black creature slunk 
out of the door with its tail out of curl. 

It was whilst Mr. Hawker was at Tamerton that 
Henry Phillpotts was appointed Bishop of Exeter. 
There was some unpleasant feeling aroused in the 
diocese at the mode of his appointment ; and the 
bishop sent a pastoral letter to his clergy to state 
his intentions, and explain away what caused un- 
pleasantness. Mr. Hawker wrote the bishop an 
answer of such a nature that it began a friendship 
which subsisted between them till the death of Dr. 
Phillpotts. Whilst Mr. Hawker was curate of Tam- 
erton, on one or two occasions the friends of the 
laboring dead requested that the burial hour might 
be that on which the deceased was accustomed " to 
leave work." The request touched his poetical in- 
stinct, and he wrote the lines : — 

" Sunset should be the time, they said, 
To close their brother's narrow bed. 
'Tis at that pleasant hour of day 
The laborer treads his homeward way. 
His work is o'er, his toil is done ; 
And therefore at the set of sun. 
To wait the wages of the dead, 
We laid our hireling in his bed." 

In 1834 died the non-resident vicar of Stratton, 
and the bishop of Exeter offered to obtain the living 
for Mr. Robert Stephen Hawker ; but he refused it, 
as his father was curate of Stratton, and he felt how 
unbecoming it would be for him to assume the posi- 
tion of vicar where his father had been, and still was, 
curate. In his letter to the bishop he urged his 



30 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

father's long service at Stratton ;• and. Dr. Phillpotts, 
at his request, obtained the presentation for Mr. 
Jacob Stephen Hawker to the vicarage of Stratton. 

The very next piece of preferment that fell vacant 
was Morwenstow, whose vicar, the Rev. Mr. Young, 
died in 1834. Mr. Young had been non-resident, 
and had lived at Torrington, the parish being served 
by a succession of curates, some of them also non- 
resident. The vicarage house, which stood west of 
the tower near a gate out of the churchyard, was let 
to the clerk, and inhabited by him and his wife. The 
first curate was Mr, Badcock, who lived at Week St. 
Mary, some fourteen miles distant. He rode over 
for Sunday duty. Next came a M. Savant, a French- 
man ordained deacon in the English Church, but 
never priest. He was a dapper dandy, very careful 
of his ecclesiastical costume, in knee-breeches and 
black silk stockings. He lodged at Marsland. Par- 
son Davis of Kilkhampton came over to Morwenstow 
to celebrate the holy communion. The Frenchman 
was succeeded by Mr. Bryant, who lived at Flexbury, 
in the parish of Poughill ; the next to him was Mr. 
Thomas, a man who ingratiated himself with the 
farmers, — a cheery person, fond of a good story, and 
interested in husbandry, "but not much of the clerical 
in him," as an old Morwenstow man describes him. 
Whilst Mr. Thomas was curate, the vicar, Parson 
Young, died, A petition from the farmers and house- 
holders of Morwenstow to the bishop was got up, to 
request him to appoint Mr. Thomas. The curate, so 
runs the tale, went to Exeter to present the paper 
with their signatures, and urge his claims in person. 



IS GIVEN MORWENSTOW. 31 

"My lord," said he, " the Dissenters have all signed 
the petition : they are all in favor of me. Not one 
has declined to attach his name ; even the Wesleyan 
minister wishes me well, and to see me vicar of 
Morwenstow." 

"Then, my good sir," said Dr. Phillpotts, "it is 
very clear that you are not the man for me. I wish 
you a good-morning." And he wrote off to Robert 
Stephen Hawker, offering him the incumbency of 
Morwenstow. 

There was probably not a living in the whole 
diocese, perhaps not one in England, which could 
have been more acceptable to Mr. Hawker. As his 
sister tells me, " Robert always loved Morwenstow : 
from a boy he loved it, and, when he could, went to 
live there." 

He at once adopted the preferment, and went into 
residence. There had not been a resident vicar 
since the Rev. Oliver Rose*,^ who lived at Eastaway, 
in the parish. This Rev. Oliver Rose had a brother- 
in-law, Mr. Edward Waldron* of Stanbury; and the 
cronies used to meet and dine alternately at each 
other's house. As they grew merry over their port, 
the old gentlemen uproariously applauded any novel 
joke or story by rattling their glasses on the table. 
Having laughed at each other's venerable anecdotes 
for the last twenty years, the introduction of a new 
tale or witticism was hailed with the utmost enthu- 
siasm. This enthusiasm reached such a pitch, that, 

1 Throughout this memoir, wherever an asterisk accompanies a name it is 
for the purpose of showing that the real name has not been given, either at 
the request of descendants, or because relatives are still alive. 



32 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

in their applause of each other's salHes, they occa- 
sionally broke their wineglasses. 

The vicar of Morwenstow, when Mr. Waldron 
snapped off the foot of his glass, would put the foot 
in his pocket, and treasure it; for each wineglass 
broken was to him a testimony to the brilliancy of 
his jokes, and also a reminder to him of them for 
future use. 

In time he had accumulated a considerable number 
of broken wineglasses, and he had them fitted together 
to form an enormous lantern ; and thenceforth, when 
he went to dine at Stanbury, this testimony to his 
triumphs was borne lighted before him. 

The lantern fell into the hands of Mr. Hawker, 
and he presented it to the lineal descendant of Mr, 
E. Waldron, as a family relic. It is still in existence, 
and duly honored. It is of oak, with the fragments 
of wineglasses let in with great ingenuity in the 
patterns of keys, hearts, &c., about the roof, the sides 
being composed of the circular feet of the glasses. 

On looking at the map of Cornwall, one is sur- 
prised to see it studded with the names of saints, of 
whom one knows nothing, and these names of a 
peculiarly un-English sound. The fact is, that Corn- 
wall was, like Ireland, a land of saints in the fifth and 
sixth centuries. These were either native Cornwelsh, 
or were Welsh saints who migrated thither to seek 
on the desolate moors or wild, uninhabited coasts of 
Cornwall solitary places, where they might live- to 
God, and fight demons, like the hermits of Egypt. 
Cornwall was the Thebaid of the Welsh. 

Little or nothing is known of the vast majority of 



ST. MORIVENNA. 33 

these saints. They have left their names and their 
cells and holy-wells behind them, but nothing more. 

" They had their lodges in the wilderness, 
Or built their cells beside the shadowy sea; 
And there they dwelt with angels like a dream. 
So they unclosed the volume of the Book, 
And filled the fields of the Evangelist 
With thoughts as sweet as flowers ! " ^ 

The legends of a few local saints stirvive, but of 
very few. Such is that' of St, Melor " with the 
golden hand," probably some old British deity who 
has bequeathed his myth, to an historical personage. 
St. Padarn, St. Pieran, St. Cadoc, St. Theilo, have 
their histories well known, as they belong to Wales. 
But there are other saints, emigrants from Wales, 
who settled on the north-west coast, of whom but 
little is known. 

What little can be collected concerning St. Mor- 
wenna, who had her cell at Morwenstow, I proceed 
to give. 

In the fifth century there lived in Brecknock a 
Welsh prince, Brychan by name, who died in 450. 
According to Welsh accounts, he had twenty-four 
sons and twenty-five daughters, in all forty-nine chil- 
dren. Statements, however, vary, of which this is 
the largest. The smallest number attributed to him 
is twenty-four ; and, as his grandchildren may have 
been included in the longer list, this may account for 
the discrepancy. He is said to have had three wives, 
— Ewrbrawst, Rhybrawst, and Peresgri, — though it 

1 " The Cornish Fathers," in Mr, Hawker's Echoes of Old Cornwall, 1846. 



34 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

is not said that they were living at the same time. 
Pie had also several illegitimate children. 

The names of the sons and daughters and grand- 
children of Brychan are given in the " Cognacio 
Brychani," and by Bonnedd-y-Saint ; and a critical 
examination of the list is given by Dr. Rees in his 
" Essay on the Welsh Saints." In the " Young 
Women's Window " at St. Neots, near Liskeard, in 
Cornwall, is fifteenth-century glass, which represents 
Bryshan with his offspring, twenty-four in number, 
all of whom have been confessors or martyrs in 
Devon and Cornwall. The following are named: i. 
St. John, or Ive, who gave his name to the Church of 
St. Ives ; 2. Endelient, who gave his name to Ende- 
lion ; 3. Menfre, to St. Miniver; 4. Teth, to St. Teath; 
5. Mabina, to St. Mabyn ; 6. Merewenna, to Marham 
Church near Bude ; 7. Wenna, to St. Wenna; 8. Yse, 
to St. Issey ; 9. Morwenna, to Morwenstow ; 10. 
Cleder, to St. Clether; 11. Kerie, to Egloskerry ; 12. 
Helic, to Egloshayle ; 13. Adwen, to Advent ; Lanent, 
to Lelant. Leland, in his " Itinerary," adds Nectan, 
Dilic, Wensenna, Wessen, Juliana,^ Wymp, Wen- 
heder, Jona, Kananc, and Kerhender. 

A few, but not many, of these can be identified 
with those attributed to Brychan by the Welsh gene- 
alogists. Morwenna is most probably the Welsh 
Mwynen, in Latin Monyina, daughter of Brynach 
Wyddel by Corth, one of the daughters of Brychan ; 
and her sisters Gwennan and Gwenlliu are probably 
the Wenna and Wenheder of the St. Neots window. 

St. Morwenna was therefore apparently the grand- 

1 St. Juliot, who has left her name near Boscastle. 



FAMILY OF BRYCHAN. 35 

daughter of Brychan. Her father, Brynach Wyddel, 
lived in Carmarthen and Pembroke. She had a 
brother named Gerwyn, who is admitted by Welsh 
authorities to have settled in Cornwall, and been slain 
on the isle of Gerwyn. He does not appear in Le- 
land's list. That list is evidently inaccurate : the 
same person recurs under two forms of his name. 
Thus John (Ive) and Jona are the same, so also 
probably are Merewenna of Marham Church and 
Morwenna of Morwenstow. Kananc is St. Caian, 
venerated on Sept. 5, a grandson of Brychan, and 
perhaps, therefore, a son of Corth or Cymorth, and 
brother of St. Morwenna. St. Cleder is St. Cledog, 
who was buried in Herefordshire, at Clodock. He 
was martyred by the Pagan Saxons about A.D. 
492, and is commemorated on Aug. 19. He also 
was a grandson of Brychan, but is said by the " Cog- 
nacio " to have been the son of St. Clydwyn, son of 
Brychan. He is said to have had a sister, St. Pedita, 
and a brother, St. Dedyn, who may be the Cornish 
Adwen. The St. Tedda, said to be a sister of St. 
Morwenna in the list, is no doubt St. Tydie, a daugh- 
ter or granddaughter of Brychan. St. Endelient 
may be the same as St. Elined, the Almedha of 
Giraldus Cambrensis, who says that she suffered 
martyrdom upon a hill called Penginger, near Breck- 
nock. She is venerated on Aug. i. 

In Cornwall, as in Wales, churches were called 
after the saints who founded cells there. Morwenna, 
we may safely conclude, like so many of l\er brothers, 
sisters, cousins, uncles, and aunts, migrated to Corn- 
wall. St. Nectan, who may have been her brother, 



36 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

and who certainly was a near relation, established 
himself, we may conjecture, at St. Neighton's Kieve, 
at which time probably Morwenna had her cell at 
Marham Church, St. Nectan afterwards established 
himself on Hartland Point ; and perhaps at the same 
time Morwenna erected her cell on the cliff above 
the Atlantic, which has since borne her name, and 
from which, in clear weather, and before a storm, the 
distant coast of her native Wales was visible. There 
she died. Leland, in his " Collectanea," quoting an 
ancient MS. book of places where the bodies of saints 
rest, says that St. Morwenna lies at Morwenstow : 
"in villa, quae Modwenstow dicitur, S. Mudwenna 
quiescit." 

It will be seen from this extract that Leland con- 
founded Morwenna with Modwenna ; and Mr. Hawk- 
er, following Leland and Butler, did the same. In 
the year before he died I had a correspondence with 
him on this point, and convinced him of the error 
into which he had fallen in his "Footsteps of Former 
Men in Cornwall." 

There exists a late life of St. Modwenna by one 
Concubran, an Irish writer of the end of the thir- 
teenth and beginning of the fourteenth century. 
There is also an Irish life of a Monynna of Newry, 
in Ireland, who received the veil from the hands of 
St. Patrick, and died about A.D. 518. 

Concubran had this life, and, knowing of the fame 
of the saintly abbess Modwenna of Burton-on-Trent, 
he supposed the two saints were the same, and wove 
the Irish legend of Monynna with the English life of 
Modwenna, and made out of them a life which is a 



ST. MODWENNA OF BURTON. 37 

tissue of anachronisms. He represents St. Mod- 
wenna as contemporary with Pope Coelestine I. 
(423-432), St. Patrick (died 465), St. Ibar (died 500), 
St. Columba (died 597), St. Kevin (died 618), and 
King Alfrid of Northumbria (died 705). 

St. Modwenna, or Movenna, founded a convent at 
Fochard Brighde, near Faugher, in the county of 
Louth, about the year 630 ; and a hundred and fifty 
virgins placed themselves under her rule. But one 
night, an uproarious wedding having disturbed the 
rest and fluttered the hearts of her nuns, and threat- 
ened to turn their heads, Modwenna deemed it pru- 
dent to remove the excitable damsels to some more 
remote spot, where no weddings took place, nor con- 
vivial songs were heard ; and she pitched upon Kill- 
sleve-Cuilin, in the county of Armagh, where she 
erected a monastery. One of her maidens was named 
Athea, another Orbile. She had a brother, a holy 
abbot, named Ronan. 

In Concubran's " Life of St. Modwenna," we are 
told that about this time Alfrid, son of the king of 
England, came to Ireland. This is certainly Alfrid, 
the illegitimate son of Oswy, who, on the accession 
of Egfrid (A.D. 670), fled to Ireland, and remained 
there studying, as Bede tells us, for some while. 
The Irish king, according to Concubran, was Conall. 
But this is a mistake. Conall, nephew of Donald II., 
reigned from 642 to 658. Seachnasch was king in 
670, but was killed the following year, and was suc- 
ceeded by Finnachta, who reigned till 695. When 
Alfrid was about to return to Northumbria, the Irish 
king wanted to make him a present, but, having 



38 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

nothing in his treasury, bade a kinsman go and rob 
some church or convent, and give the spoils to the 
Northumbrian prince. The noble fell on all the 
lands of the convent of Modwenna, and pillaged 
them and the church. Then the saint, with great 
boldness, took ship, crossed over to England, came 
to Northumbria, and found the prince Alfrid at 
Whitby (A.D. 685), and demanded redress. The 
king — for Alfrid was now on the throne — prom- 
ised to repay all, and placed Modwenna in the famous 
double monastery of Whitby founded by St. Hilda 
in 658. His own sister, Elfleda, was there; and he 
committed her to St. Modwenna, to be instructed by 
her in the way of life. Elfleda was then aged thirty- 
one. Three years after, she succeeded to the place 
of St. Hilda, and was second abbess of Whitby. 
Then St. Modwenna returned to Jreland, and visited 
her foundations there. After a while she made a 
pilgrimage to Rome, and in passing through Eng- 
land founded a religious house at Burton-bn-Trent, 
and left in it some of her nuns. I need not follow 
her history farther. 

Concubran tells some odd stories of St. Mod- 
wenna. One day she and her nuns went to visit 
St. Bridget — regardless, be it remembered, of the 
gap of two centuries which intervened. A girl in 
the company took an onion away with her, lest she 
should be hungry on the road. On reaching the 
Liffey, the river was found to be too swollen to be 
crossed. "There is something wrong," said Mod- 
wenna: "let us examine our consciences, and cast 
away the accursed thing." 



ST. MODWENNA OF BURTON. 39 

"The accursed thing is this onion," said the 
maiden, producing the bulb. 

"Take it back to Bridget," said Modwenna; and, 
when the onion had been restored, the Liffey sub- 
sided. 

Bridget sent a silver chalice to Modwenna. She 
threw it into the river, and the waves washed it to 
its destination. 

One night Modwenna said to her assembled nuns, 
" My sisters, we must all cleanse our consciences, 
for our prayers stick in the roof of the chapel, and 
cannot break out." 

Then one of the nuns said, " It is my fault. I 
complained to a knight of my acquaintance, of the 
cold I felt ; and he told me I was too scantily clothed. 
He was moved to such pity of me, that he gave me 
some warm lamb's-wool underclothing, and I have 
that on now." The garment was removed and de- 
stroyed ; and the prayers got out of the roof, and flew 
to heaven.^ 

One night, shortly before her death, before the 
gray dawn broke, two lay sisters came to her cell. 
As they approached, they saw two silver swans rise 
in .the air, and sail away. They immediately con- 
cluded that these were angels come to bear off the 
soul of the abbess. 

Her body was laid at Burton-on-Trent, and was 
long an object of pilgrimage. But the fact that for 

1 " Dixit S. Movenna: Melius, ut illi subtulares imponantur in profundis- 
simum branum (? barathrum) pro quibus nunc absentiam sentimus Angelorum ! 
Vocata itaque una ex sororibus Brigna et aliis cum ea ex sororibus, dixit eis : 
Ite ! illos subtulares in aliquo profundo abscondite." 



40 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

a short while St, Modwenna instructed the sister of 
Alfrid, " son of the king of England," has led some 
writers into strange mistakes. Capgrave supposes 
him to be Alfred the Great, son of Ethelwolf, and 
that the sister was Edith of Polesworth, who died in 
954. And Dugdale followed Capgrave. Mr. Hawker, 
following Alban Butler, who accepted the account of 
Dugdale and Capgrave, made the blunder greater by 
fusing St. Morwenna of Cornwall, who, as has been 
shown, lived in the lifth century, with Modwenna, 
who lived at the end of the seventh century, and 
made her the instructress of St. Edith of Polesworth, 
who died in the tenth century, in the year 954. 
And Modwenna, as has been stated, was confounded 
by Concubran with Monynna of Newry, who died at 
the beginning of the sixth century. 

On unravelling this tangle in 1874, when writing 
my July volumes of " Lives of the Saints," I wrote 
to Mr. Hawker of Morwenstow, and told him that 
the east window of his church represented Mor- 
wenna of Cornwall teaching Edith of Polesworth, 
and that it was an anachronism and mistake alto- 
gether, as it was not Edith who was educated by the 
saintly Modwenna, and the abbess Modwenna was 
not the virgin Morwenna. I told him also that 
St. Modwenna was buried at Burton-on-Trent. 

I received this answer : — 

"What! Morwenna not lie in the holy place at 
Morwenstow ! Of that you will never persuade me, 
— no, never. I know that she lies there. I have 
seen her, and she has told me as much ; and at her 
feet ere long I hope to lay my old bones." 



THE NORTH-WEST COAST. 4 1 

I wrote at once to assure him that St. Morwenna 
did lie, as Leland says, at Morwenstow, and that St. 
Modwenna did lie where she died, at Burton-on- 
Trent, I asked him some particulars about his 
vision of St. Morwenna. He thought I meant to 
obtain them for publication. " No," he wrote, " I 
might tell you what I saw, but never shall such a 
revelation be given to the unbelieving public. ' Give 
not that which is holy unto dogs, neither cast yc 
your pearls before swine.' " 

In the little glen of Morwenstow, three hundred 
and fifty feet above the Atlantic, St. Morwenna had 
her cell, and gave origin to the church and parish of 
Morwenstow. As she lay a-dying, says the legend, 
her brother Nectan came to her from Hartland. 

" Raise me in thy arms, brother," she said, " that 
my eyes may rest on my native Wales." And so 
she died on Morwenstow cliff, looking out across 
the Severn Sea to the faint blue line of the Welsh 
mountains. St. Nectan had a cell probably at Well- 
combe, and afterwards at Hartland, for both of these 
churches bear his name. 

The coast from Tintagel to Hartland is almost 
unrivalled for grandeur. The restless Atlantic is 
ever thundering on this iron-walled coast. The roar 
can be heard ten miles inland; flakes of foam are 
picked up after a storm at Holsworthy. To me, 
when staying three miles inland, it has seemed the 
roar of a hungry caged beast, ravening at its bars for 
food. 

The swell comes unbroken from Labrador, to hurl 
itself against this coast, and to be shivered into foam 
on its iron cuirass. 



42 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

"Twice," said a friend who dwelt near this coast, 
"twice in the sixteen years that I have spent here 
has the sea been calm enough to reflect a passing 
sail." 

This Atlantic has none of the tameness of the 
German Ocean, that plays on the low flat shores of 
Essex ; none of the witchery of the green crystal 
that breaks over the white sands »of Babbicombe and 
Torquay : it is emphatically " the cruel sea," fierce, 
insatiate, hungering for human lives and stately ves- 
sels, that it may cast them up mumbled and mangled 
after having robbed them of life and treasure. 

It is a rainy coast. It is said in Devon, and the 
same is true here : — 

" The west wind comes, and brings us rain ; 
The east wind blows it back again ; 
The south wind brings us rainy weather ; 
The north wind, cold and rain together. 
When the sun in red doth set, 
The next day surely will be wet; 
But, if the sun should set in gray, 
The next will be a rainy day. 
When buds the ash before the oak, 
Then that year there'll be a soak ; 
But, should the oak precede the ash. 
Then expect a rainy splash." 

The moist air from the ocean condenses over the 
land, and envelops it in fine fog or rain. But when 
the sky is clear, with only floating clouds drifting 
along it, the sunlight and shadows that fall over the 
landscape through the vaporous air are exquisite in 
their delicacy of color ; the sun-gleams soft as prim- 
rose, the shadows pure cobalt, tenderly laid on as the 
bloom on the cheek of a plum. 



THE NORTH-WEST COAST. 43 

As the tall cliffs on this wild coast lose themselves 
in mist, so does history, which attaches itself to many 
a spot along it, stand indistinct and weird in its veil 
of legend. Kings and saints of whom little authentic 
is known, whose very dates are uncertain, have given 
their names to castle and crag and church. 

Tintagel Rock is crowned with the ruins of the 
stronghold of King Marke, whose wife became the 
mother of the renowned Arthur, by Uther Pen- 
dragon. We have the tale in " Geoffrey of Mon- 
mouth." There, in the home of the shrieking sea- 
mews, Arthur uttered his first feeble cries. It is a 
scene well suited to be the cradle of the hero of 
British myth, — a tremendous crag standing out of 
the sea, which has bored a tunnel through it, and 
races in and clashes in subterranean passages under 
the crumbling walls which sheltered Arthur. 

The crag is cut off from the mainland by a chasm 
once spanned by a drawbridge, but now widened by 
storm so as to threaten to convert Tintagel into an 
island. 

Near Boscastle rises Pentargon, " Arthur's Head," 
a noble black sheer precipice, forming one horn of a 
little bay into which a waterfall plunges from a green 
combe. 

But there are other names besides those of Arthur, 
Uther Pendragon, Morwenna, Juliot, and Nectan, 
which are associated with this coast. 

At Stowe, in the parish of Kilkhampton, adjoining 
Morwenstow, lived Sir Bevil Granville, the Bayard 
of old Cornwall, " sans peur et sans reproche," who 
fought and conquered at Stratton, and fell at Lans- 



44 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

down. Sir Bevil nearly ruined himself for the cause 
of his king, Charles I. 

One of Mr. Hawker's most spirited ballads is 

THE GATE SONG OF STOWE. • 

Arise ! and away ! for the king and the law; 

Farewell to the couch and the pillow : 
With spear in the rest, and with rein in the hand, 

Let us rush on the foe like a billow. 

Call the hind from the plough, and the herd from the lold ; 

Bid the wassailer cease from his revel ; 
And ride for old Stowe when the banner's unfurled 

For the cause of King Charles and Sir Bevil. 

Trevanion is up, and Godolphin is nigh, 

And Harris of Hayne's o'er the river; 
From Lundy to Looe, ' One and all ! ' is the cry, 

And ' The king and Sir Bevil forever ! ' 

Ay ! by Tre, Pol, and Pen, ye may know Cornishmen 
'Mid the names and the nobles of Devon ; 

But if truth to the king be a signal, why, then 
Ye can find out the Granville in heaven. 

Ride ! ride with red spear ! there is death in delay : 

'Tis a race for dear life with the devil ! 
If dark Cromwell prevail, and the king must give way, 

This earth is no place for Sir Bevil. 

So at Stamford he fought, and at Lansdown he fell : 

But vain were the visions he cherished ; 
For the great Cornish heart that the king loved so well, 

In the grave of the Granville it perished. 

One day, if indeed we may trust the story, Mrs. 



ANTONY PA YNE. 



45 



Hawker, the first wife of the vicar of Morwenstow, 
when lunching at Stowe in the farmhouse, noticed 
that a letter in old handwriting was wrapped round 
the mutton-bone that was brought on the table. 
Moved by curiosity, she took the paper off, and 
showed it to Mr. Hawker. On examination it was 
found that the letter bore the signature of Sir Bevil 
Granville. Mr. Hawker at once instituted inquiries, 
and found a large chest full of letters of different 
members of the Granville family in the sixteenth 
and seventeenth centuries. He at once communi- 
cated with Lord Carteret, owner of Stowe, and the 
papers were removed ; but by some unfortunate acci- 
dent they were lost. The only ones saved were a 
packet removed from the chest by Mr. Davies, rector 
of Kilkhampton, previous to their being sent away 
from Stowe. These were copied by Miss Manning 
of Eastaway, in Morwenstow ; and her transcript, 
together with some of her originals, — I fear not all, 
— is now in the possession of Ezekiel Rous, Esq., of 
Bideford.i 

In his " Footprints of Former Men," Mr. Hawker 
has given a letter from Antony Payne, the gigantic 
serving-man of Sir Bevil, written after the battle of 
Lansdown, to Lady Grace Granville, giving an ac- 
count of the death of her husband. This was prob- 
ably one of the letters in the collection found by Mr. 
Hawker, and so sadly lost. 

This Antony Payne was a remarkable man. He 
measured seven feet two inches without his shoes 
when aged twenty-one, when he was taken into the 

1 See Appendix A. 



46 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

establishment at Stowe. He afterwards added two 
inches to his height. It is said that one Christmas 
Eve the fire languished in the hall at Stowe. A boy 
with an ass had been sent to the woods for logs, but 
had loitered on his way. Lady Grace lost patience. 
Then Antony started in quest of the dilatory lad, 
and re-entered the hall shortly after, bearing the 
loaded animal on his back. He threw down his bur- 
den at the hearth-side, shouting, " Ass and fardel ! 
Ass and fardel for my lady's Yule ! " 

On another occasion he rode into Stratton with Sir 
Bevil. An uproar proceeded from the little inn-yard, 
and Sir Bevil bade his giant find out what was the 
cause of the disturbance. Antony speedily returned 
with a man under each arm, whom he had arrested in 
the act of fighting. 

"Here are the kittens," said the giant; and beheld 
them under his arms whilst his master chastised 
them with his riding-whip. 

After the battle of Stamford Hill, Sir Bevil re- 
turned for the night to Stowe ; but his giant remained 
with some other soldiers to bury the dead. He had 
caused trenches to be dug to hold ten bodies side 
by side, and in these trenches he and his followers 
deposited the slain. On one occasion they had laid 
nine corpses in their places ; and Payne was bringing 
another, tucked under his arm like one of the " kit- 
tens," when all at once the supposed dead man began 
to kick, and plead for life. " Surely you won't bury 
me, Mr. Payne, before I am dead } " — "I tell thee, 
man," was the grim reply, " our trench was dug for 
ten, and there's nine in it already : thou must take 



LETTER OF LADY GRACE GRANVILLE. 47 

thy place." — " But I bean't dead, I say ; I haven't 
done living yet : be massyful, Mr. Payne ; don't ye 
hurry a poor fellow into the earth before his time." 
— "I won't hurry thee: thou canst die at thy leis- 
ure." Payne's purpose was, however, kinder than his 
speech. He carried the supphant to his own cot- 
tage, and left him to the care of his wife. The man 
lived, and his descendants are among the principal 
inhabitants of Stratton at this day. 

I make no apology for transcribing from the origi- 
nal letters a very few of the most interesting and 
touching, some for whose escape we cannot feel too 
thankful. The following beautiful letter is from 
Lady Grace Granville to her husband. 

The superscription is : — 

For my best Friend, Sir Bevill Grenvile. 

My ever Dearest, — I have received yours from Salis- 
bury, and am glad to bear you came so farr well, with poore 
Jack. Ye shall be sure of my prairs, which is the best service 
I can doe you. I canott perceave whither you had receaved 
mine by Tom, or no, but I believe by this time you have mett 
that and another since by the post. Truly I have been out of 
frame ever since you went, not with a cough, but in another 
kinde, much indisposd. However, I have striven with it, and 
was at Church last Sunday, but not the former. I have been 
vexed with diverse demands made of money than I could 
satisfie, but I instantly paid what you sent, and have intreated 
Mr. Rous his patience a while longer, as you directed. It 
grieves me to think how chargeable your family is, considering 
your occasion. It hath this many yeares troubled me to think 
to what passe it must come at last, if it run on after this course. 
How many times what hath appeared hopefull, and yet proved 
contrary in the conclusion, hath befalen us, I am loth to urge, 
because tis farr from my desire to disturbe your thoughts ; but 



48 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

this sore is not to be curd with silence, or patience either, and 
while you are loth to discourse or thinke of that you can take 
little comfort to see how bad it is, and I was unwilling to strike 
on that string which sounds harsh in your eare (the matter still 
grows worse, though). I can never putt it out of my thoughts, 
and that makes me often times seeme dreaming to you, when 
you expect I should sometimes observe more complement with 
my frends, or be more active in matters of curiousity in our 
House, which doubtlesse you would have been better pleasd 
with had I been capable to have performd it, and I believe 
though I had a naturall dullnes in me, it would never so much 
have appeard to my prejudice, but twas increasd by a continu- 
ance of sundry disasters, which I still mett with, yet never till 
this yeare, but I had some strength to encounter them, and 
truly now I am soe cleane overcome, as tis in vaine to deny a 
truth. It seems to me now tis high time to be sensible that 
God is displeasd, having had many sad remembrances in our 
estate and childrene late, yet God spard us in our children long, 
and when I strive to follow your advice in moderating my 
grieffe (which I praise God) I have thus farr been able to doe 
as not to repine at God's will, though I have a tender sence of 
griefe which hangs on me still, and I think it as dangerous and 
improper to forgett it, for I cannott but think it was a neer 
touched correction, sent from God to check me for my many 
neglects of my duty to God. It was the tenth and last plague 
God smote the Egyptians with, the death of their first borne, 
before he utterly destroyed them, they persisting in their dis- 
obedience notwithstanding all their former punishments. This 
apprehension makes me both tremble and humbly beseech Him 
to withdraw His punishments from us, and to give us grace to 
know and amend whatever is amisse. Now I have powrd out 
my sad thoughts which in your absence doth most oppresse me, 
and tis my weakness hardly to be able to say thus much unto 
you, how brimfull soever my heart be, though oftentimes I 
heartely wish I could open my heart truly unto you when tis 
overchargd. But the least thought it may not be pleasing to 
you will at all times restraine me. Consider me rightly, I be- 
seech you, and excuse, I pray, the liberty I take with my pen 



THE GRANVILLE LETTERS. 49 

in this kinde. And now at last I must thanke you for wishing 
me to lay aside all feare, and depend on the Almighty, who can 
only helpe us ; for his mercy I daily pray, and your welfare, 
and our poore boys ; so I conclude, and am ever your faithfully 
and only Grace Grenvile. 

Stow, Nov. 23, 1641. 

I sent yours to Mr. Prust, but this from him came after 
mine was gone last weeke. Ching is gone to Cheddar. I 
looke for Bawden, but as yet is not come. Sir Rob. Bassett is 
dead. 

I heard from my cosen Grace Weekes, who writes that Mr. 
Luttrell says if you and he could meete the liking between the 
young people, he will not stand for money you shall finde. Par- 
son Weekes wishes you would call with him, and that he might 
entice you to take the castle in your way downe. She sayes 
they enquire in the most courteous maner that can be imagind. 
Deare love, thinke how to farther this what you can. 

The following is an earlier letter by many years, 
written when Grace was a wife of six years' standing. 

Sweet Mr. Grenvile, — I cannott let Mr. Oliver passe 
without a line, though it be only to give you thankes for yours, 
which I have receaved. I will in all things observe your direc- 
tions as neer as I can, and because I have not time to say much 
now I will write againe to-morrow [ . • . something torn away], 
and think you shall receave advertizment concerning us much 
as you desyre. I can not say I am well, neither have I bin so 
since I saw you, but, however, I will pray for your health, and 
good successe in all businesses, and pray be so kinde as to love 
her who takes no comfort in any thing but you, and will remayne 
yours ever and only Grace Grenvile. 

Fryday Night, Nov. 13, 1629. 

The superscription of this letter is : — 

" To my ever dearest and best Friend, Mr. Bevill Grenvile, at 
the Rainbow, in Fleet Street." 



50 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Lady Grace was the daughter of Sir George Smith 
of Exeter, Kt. : she was born in 1 598, and married 
Sir Bevil Granville in 1620, He died in 1643, on 
the battle-field of Lansdown, near Bath ; and she fol- 
lowed him to the grave in 1647. Her portrait is at 
Haynes, "aetatis suae 36, 1634." One of Sir Bevil is 
in the possession of Lord John Thynne; another 
with date 1636, "aetatis suae 40," is in the possession 
of Rev. W. W. Martyn of Tonacombe, in Morwen- 
stow. 

There are other letters of the Granvilles in the 
bundle from which I have selected these. One from 
John Granville to his brother, giving a curious pic- 
ture of London life in the seventeenth contury, nar- 
rating how he quarrelled with a certain barber Wells, 
and came very nigh to pulling of noses ; ^ one from 
Jane, wife of John Granville, Earl of Bath, to her 
husband, "for thy deare selfe," beginning, "My 
deare Heart," and telling how — 

I am now without any man in the house, my father being 
gone, and Jacke is drunk all day and leyes out of nights, and if 
I do but tell him of it he will be gone presantly ; therefore, for 
God's sake, make haste up, for I am so parpetually ill that I am 
nbt fit to bee anny longgar left in this condission. My poore 
motther hath now so much bisnese that I do not knowe how 
long she will be abble to tary with mee, and if that should hap- 
pen, which God forbid it should at any time, much more now, 
what dost thou thinke I should do? I want the things thou 
prommysed to send me very much, which, being to long to put 
in a lettar, I have geven my brother a not of. My deare, con- 
sider how nere I am my time, and many women comming this 
yeare before thar time. . . . Thou mayst now thinke how im- 

1 To Beville Grenville, Esq., dated July i8, 1621. 



LETTER OF LORD LANSDOWN. 51 

passiontly I am till I see thee agane, thinking every day a hon- 
dared yeare ; my affecksion being so gret that I wounder how I 
have stayd till the outmoust time. I will saye no more now, 
hopping to see thee every day, but that I am, and ever will bee, 
thy most affectionate and faithful wife and sarvant, 

Jane Grenvile. 
Thy babe bayrs thy blessing. 

This letter is dated only June 17, without year. It 
is alv^ays pleasant to meet with the beating of a warm 
human heart. A third letter I venture to transcribe 
here, from George Lord Lansdown,^ grandson of Sir 
Bevil, to his nephew, Bevil Granville. 

Dear Nephew, — I approve very well of your resolution of 
dedicating yourself to the service of God. You could not 
chuse a better master, provided you have so sufficiently 
searched your heart and examined your reins, as to be per- 
suaded you can serve Him well. In so doing, you may secure 
to yourself many blessings in this world, as well as sure hope 
in the next. 

There is one thing which I perceive you have not yet 
thoroughly purged yourself from ; which is, flattery. You have 
bestowed so much of it upon me in your last letter, that I hope 
you have no more left, and that you meant it only to take your 
leave of such flights, which, however well meant, oftener put a 
man out of countenance than oblige him. You are now to be 
a searcher after truth, and I shall hereafter take it more kindly 
to be justly reproved by you than to be undeservedly compli- 
mented. 

I would not have you misunderstand me, as if I recom- 
mended to you a sour Presbyterian severity. That is yet more 
to be avoided : advice, like physick, must be so sweetned and 

1 George Lord Lansdown was son of Bernard Granville, son of Sir Bevil. 
Bernard, who died 1701, had three sons, Bevil, George, and Barnard; and 
Barnard had two sons, Barnard and Bevil, and Mary, a daughter, who married 
Dr. Delany. Bevil, the son of Barnard, is the nephew to whom this letter is 
addressed. 



52 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

prepared as to be made palatable, or Nature may be apt to 
revolt against it. 

Be always sincere, but at the same time be always polite. 
Be humble without descending from your character, and re- 
prove and correct without ofending good manners. To be a 
Cynick is as bad as to be a Sycophant : you are not to lay aside 
the gentleman with the sword, nor put on the gown to hide 
your birth and good breeding, but to adorn it. 

Such has been the malice of the wicked, that pride, avarice, 
and ambition have been charged upon the Clergy in all ages, in 
all countrys, and equally in all religions. What they are most 
obliged to combat against in the pulpits they are most accused 
of encouraging in their conduct. Let your example confirm 
your doctrine, and let no man ever have it in his power to re- 
proach you with practising contrary to what you preach. 

You had an unckle, the late Dean of Durham,^ whose mem- 
ory I shall ever revere. Make him your example. Sanctity 
sat so easy, so unaffected, and so graceful! upon him, that in 
him we beheld the very beauty of Holiness. He was as chear- 
ful, as familiar, as condescending in his conversation, as he 
was strict, regular, and exemplary in his piety ; as well bred 
and accomplished as a courtier, and as reverend and venerable 
as an Apostle ; he was indeed Apostolical in every thing, for he 
left all to follow his Lord and Master. May you resemble him ; 
may he revive in you; may his spirit descend upon you, as 
Elijah's on Elisha ; and may the great God of heaven, in guid- 
ing, directing, and strengthening your pious resolutions, pour 
down the choicest of His blessings upon you ! 

Lansdown. 

The old house at Stowe was pulled down, and a 
new red brick mansion, square, containing a court in 
the middle, was built in 1660 by John, Earl of Bath. 
He died in 1701 ; and his son, Charles, shot himself 

1 Denys Granville, Dean of Durham (born February, 1636), was son of 
Sir Bevil. He was a nonjuror, and so lost his deanery : he retired to Rouen 
in Normandy, and there died, greatly respected. 



CORNISH DRAMATIC INSTINCT. 53 

accidentally, when coming from London to Kilk- 
hampton to his father's funeral, leaving a son, Wil- 
liam Henry, third Earl of Bath, seven years of age 
when his father died. Thus, as was said, at the same 
time there were three Earls of Bath above ground. 
William Henry died at the age of seventeen, in 171 1 ; 
and then the Granville property was divided between 
the sisters of Charles, second Earl of Bath, — Jane, 
who married Sir William Gower, ancestor of the 
Dukes of Sutherland ; and Grace, who at the age of 
eight married George, afterwards first Lord Carteret, 
then aged eleven. 

The letters of this little pair to one another, when 
the husband was at school, and she at Haynes, exist 
in the possession of Lord John Thynne. 

Stowe house was pulled down. Within the mem- 
ory of one man, grass grew and was mown in the 
meadow where sprang up Stowe house, and grew and 
was mown in the meadow where Stowe had been. 

A few crumbling walls only mark the site of the 
old home of the Granvilles.^ 

The Cornish people in former days were passion- 
ately fond of theatrical performances. In numerous 
parts of Cornwall there exist green dells or depres- 
sions in the surface of the ground, situated generally 
on a moor. These depressions have been assisted 
by the hand of man to form rude theatres : the slopes 
were terraced for seats, and on fine summer days, 
at the " revels " of the locality, were occupied by 
crowds of spectators, whilst village actors performed 

1 A picture of old Stowe is in the possession of Lord John Thynne; 
another in that of Mrs. Martyn of Harleston, Torquay. 



54 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

on the turf stage. ^ Originally the pieces acted were 
sacred, curious mysteries, of which specimens remain, 
relating to the creation, or the legendary history of 
St. Mary, or the passion of the Saviour, the proto- 
types of the Ammergau Passions-spiel. These in 
later times gave way to secular pieces, not always 
very choice in subject, and with the broadest of jokes 
in the speeches of the performers ; not worse, how- 
ever, than are to be found in Shakspeare, and which 
were tolerated in the days of Elizabeth. These 
dramatical perfomances were in full vigor when Wes- 
ley preached in Cornwall. He seized on these rude 
green theatres, and preached the gospel from their 
turfy platforms to wondering and agitated crowds, 
which thronged the grassy slopes. 

The Cornish people became Methodists, and play- 
going became sinful. The doom of these dramas 
was sealed when the place of their performances was 
turned into an arena for revivals. The camp-meeting 
supplanted the drama. 

But, though these plays are things of the past, the 
dramatic instinct survives among the Cornish people. 
There is scarce a parish in which some are not to be 
found who are actors by nature. For telling a story, 
with power of speech, expression, and gesture, they 
have not their equals in England among unprofes- 
sionals. 

One of the most brilliant "raconteurs" of our 
times was Mr. Hicks, mayor of Bodmin. 

Some years ago a member sauntering into the Cos- 

1 There is one such not far from Morwenstow, in the parish of Kilk- 
hatnpton. 



CORNISH DRA MA TIC INS TINC T. 55 

mopolitan Club would find a ring of listeners gathered 
about a chair. In that ring he would recognize the 
faces of Thackeray, Dickens, and other literary ce- 
lebrities, wiping away the tears which streamed from 
their eyes between each explosion of laughter. He 
would ask, in surprise, what was the attraction. 

" Only the little fat Cornishman from Bodmin 
telling a story." ^ 

His tales were works of art, wrought out with 
admirable skill, every point sharpened, every detail 
considered, and the whole told with such expression 
and action as could not be surpassed. His " Rabbit 
and Onions " has been essayed by many since his 
voice has been hushed ; but the copies are pale, and 
the outlines blurred. 

The subject of this memoir had inherited the 
Cornish love of story-telling, and the power of telling 
stories with dramatic force. But he had not the 
skill of Mr. Hicks of telling a long story, and keeping 
his hearers thrilling throughout the recital, breath- 
less lest they should lose a word. Mr. Hawker con- 
tented himself with brief anecdotes, but those he 
told to perfection. 

I shall, in the course of my narrative, give a speci- 
men or two of stories told by common Cornish peas- 
ants. Alas that I cannot reproduce the twinkling 
eye, the droll working countenances, and the agitated 
hands, all assistants in the story-telling ! 

1 He was formerly governor of the lunatic-asylum at Bodmin, and after- 
wards clerk of the Board of Guardians, and in turn mayor of Bodmin. Being 
very fat, he had himself once announced at dinner as " The Corporation of 
Bodmin," 



56 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 



CHAPTER III. 

Description of Morwenstow. — The Anerithmon Gelasma. — Source of the Ta- 
mar. — Tonacombe. — Morwenstow Church. — Norman Chevron-Moulding. 
— Chancel. — Altar. — Shooting Rubbish. — The Manning Bed. — The 
Yellow Poncho. — The Vicarage. — Mr. Tom Knight. — The Stag, Robin 
Hood.— Visitors. — The Silent Tower of Bottreaux. — The Pet of Bos- 
castle. 

A WRITER in " The Standard " gives this descrip- 
tion of Morwenstow : " No railway has as yet come 
near Morwenstow, and none will probably ever ap- 
proach it nearer than Bude. The coast is iron-bound. 
Strangely contorted schists and sandstones stretch 
away northward in an almost unbroken line of rocky 
wall to the point of Hartland ; and to the south-west 
a bulwark of cliffs, of very similar character, extends 
to and beyond Tintagel, whose rude walls are some- 
times seen projected against the sunset in the far 
distance. The coast scenery is of the grandest 
description, with its spires of splintered rock, its 
ledges of green turf, inaccessible, but tempting from 
the rare plants which nestle in the crevices, its seal- 
haunted caverns, its wild birds (among which the 
red-legged chough can hardly be reckoned any longer, 
so much has it of late years lessened in numbers),^ 

1 This is inaccurate. There is scarce a cliff along this coast which has not 
its pair of choughs building in it. On the day on which this was written, 1 



FIRS T SIGHT OF MOR WENS TOW. 57 

the miles of sparkling blue sea over which the eye 
ranges from the summits ablaze and fragrant with 
furze and heather ; and here and there the little 
coves of yellow sand, bound in by towering blackened 
walls, haunts which seem specially designed for the 
sea-elves, — 

' Who chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him 
When he comes back.' 

" Even in bright weather, and in summer, — in spite 
of the beauty and quiet of the scene, and in spite, 
too, of the long, deep valleys, filled with wood, which, 
in the parish of Morwenstow especially, descend quite 
to the sea, and give an impression of extreme still- 
ness and seclusion, — no one can wander along the 
summit of the cliffs without a consciousness that he 
is looking on a giant, at rest indeed for a time, but 
more full of strength and more really terrible than 
any of the Cormorans or the Goemagots who have 
left their footprints and their strongholds on the hills 
of Cornwall. The sea and the coast here are, in 
truth, pitiless ; and, before the construction of the 
haven at Bude, a vessel had no chance whatever of 
escape which approached within a certain distance of 
the rocks. Such a shipwreck as is described in Gait's 
story of 'The Entail' — when persons standing on 
the cliff, without the smallest power to help, could 
see the vessel driven onward, could watch every mo- 
tion on its deck, and at last see it dashed to pieces 
close under their feet — has more than once been ob- 

went out on Morwenstow cliff, and saw two red-legged choughs flying above 
me. A friend tells me he has counted six or seven together on Bude sands. 



58 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

served from the coast of Morwenstow by Mr. Hawker 
himself. No winter passes without much loss of life. 
The little churchyards along the coast are filled with 
sad records; and in that of Morwenstow the crews 
of many a tall vessel, have been laid to rest by the 
care of the vicar himself, who organized a special band 
of searchers for employment after a great storm." ^ 

The road to Morwenstow from civilization passes 
between narrow hedges, every bush in which is bent 
from the sea. Not a tree is visible. The whole 
country, doubtless, a century ago was moor and fen. 
At Chapel is a plantation ; but every tree crouches 
shrivelled, and turns its arms imploringly inland. 
The leaves are burnt and sear soon after they have 
expanded. 

The glorious blue Atlantic is before one, with only 
Lundy Isle breaking the continuity of the horizon 
line. In very clear weather, and before a storm, far 
away in faintest blue, the Welsh coast can be seen to 
the north-west. 

Suddenly the road dips down a combe ; and Mor- 
wenstow tower, gray-stoned, pinnacled, stands up 
against the blue ocean, with a grove of stunted syca- 
mores on the north of the church. Some way below, 
deep down in the glen, are seen the roofs and fantas- 
tic chimneys of the vicarage. The quaint lyche-gate 
and ruined cottage beside it, the venerable church, 
the steep slopes of the hills blazing with gorse or red 
with heather, and the background of sparkling blue 
sea half-way up the sky, — from such a height above 
the shore is it looked upon, — form a picture, once 
seen, never to be forgotten. 

!• Standard, Sept. i, 1875. 



DESCRIPTION OF MORWENSTOW. 59 

The bottom of the glen is filled with wood, stunted, 
indeed, but pleasant to see after the treeless desolation 
of the high land around. 

A path leads from church and vicarage upon Mor- 
wenstow cliffs. On the other side of the combe rises 
Hennacliffe (the Eagles' Crag ^) to the height of four 
hundred and fifty feet above the sea, a magnificent 
face of splintered and contorted schist, with alternat- 
ing friable slaty beds. 

Half-way down Morwenstow cliff, only to be reached 
by a narrow and scarcely distinguishable path, is the 
well of St. Morwenna. Mr. Hawker repaired it ; but 
about twenty years ago the spring worked itself a way 
through another stratum of slate, and sprang out of 
the sheer cliff some feet lower down, and falls in a 
miniature cascade, a silver thread of water, over a 
ledge of schist into the sea. 

On a green spot, across which now run cart-tracks, 
in the side of the glen, stood originally, according to 
Mr. Hawker, a chapel to St. Morwenna, visited by 
those who sought her sacred well. The green patch 
forms a rough parallelogram, and bears faint traces 
of having been levelled out of the slope. No stone 
remains on another of the ancient chapel. 

From the cliff an unrivalled view can be had of the 
Atlantic, from Lundy Isle to Padstowe Point. Tinta- 
gel Rock, with its ancient castle, stands out boldly, 
as the horn of a vast sweep against glittering water, 
lit by a passing gleam behind. Gulls, rooks, choughs, 

1 Ernecliffe, aspirated, the r softened into an «, and the usual West-country 
ending a added to Em. Thus Whitway becomes Whitaway ; Blackbrook, 
Blackabrook ; Tidncombe, Tidnacombe. 



6o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

wheel and scream around the crag, now fluttering a 
little way above the head, and then diving down 
towards the sea, which roars and foams several hun- 
dreds of feet below. 

The beach is inaccessible save at one point, where 
a path has been cut down the side of a steep gorse- 
covered slope, and through slides of ruined slate 
rock, to a bay, into which the Tonacombe Brook pre- 
cipitates itself in a broken fall of foam. 

The little coves with blue-gray floors wreathed with 
sea-foam ; the splintered and contorted rock ; the 
curved strata, which here bend over like exposed ribs 
of a mighty mammoth ; the sharp skerries that run 
out into the sea to torment it into eddies of froth and 
spray, — are of rare wildness and beauty. 

It is impossible to stand on these cliffs, and not cite 
the dvi^pidfiov ytXaGfia, TiamiriTop re yri, of the poet. 

If this were quoted in the ears of the vicar of 
Morwenstow, he would stop, lay his hand on one's 
arm, and say, — 

" How do you translate that .'' " 

" ' The many-twinkling smile of ocean.' " 

" I thought so. So does every one else. But it is 
wrong," with emphasis, — " utterly wrong. Listen to 
me. Prometheus is bound, held backwards, with 
brazen fetters binding him to the rock. He cannot 
see the waters, cannot note their smiles. He gazes 
up into the sky above him. But he hears. Notice 
how .^schylus describes the sounds that reach his 
ears, not the sights. Above, indeed, is the 'divine 
aether ; ' he is looking into that, and he hears the fan- 
ning of the 'swift-winged breezes,' and the murmur 



" THE QUEST OF THE SANGREALr 6 1 

and splash of the 'fountains of rivers;' and then 
comes the passage which I translate, * The loud laugh 
of ocean waves.' " 

A little way down the side of the hill that descends 
in gorse banks and broken rock and clean precipice 
to one of the largest and grandest of the caves, is a 
hut made of fragments of wrecked ships thrown up 
on this shore. The sides are formed of curved ribs 
of vessels, and the entrance ornamented with carved 
work from a figure-head. This hut was made by Mr. 
Hawker himself ; and in it he would sit, sheltered 
from storm, and look forth over the wild sea, dream- 
ing, composing poetry, or watching ships scudding 
before the gale dangerously near the coast. 

It was in this hut that most of his great poem, 
" The Quest of the Sangreal," was composed. 

A friend says, \' I often visited him whilst this 
poem was in process of composition, and sat with 
him in this hut as he recited it. I shall never forget 
one wild evening, when the sun had gone down before 
our eyes as a ball of red-hot iron into the deep. He 
had completed ' The Quest of the Sangreal,' and he 
repeated it from memory to me. He had a mar- 
vellous power of recitation, and with his voice, action, 
and pathos, threw a life into the words which vanishes 
in print. I cannot forget the close of the poem, with 
the throbbing sea before me, and Tintagel looming 
out of the water to the south : — 

' He ceased, and all around was dreamy night; 
There stood Dundagel, throned ; and the great sea 
Lay, a strong vassal at his master's gate, 
And, like a drunken giant, sobbed iii sleep.' " 



62 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

On a rushy knoli, in a moor in the parish of Mor- 
wenstow, rises the Tamar,^ and from the same mount 
flows the Torridge. 

" Fount of a rushing river ! wild flowers wreathe 
The home where thy first waters sunlight claim ; 
The lark sits hushed beside thee \vhile I breathe, 
Sweet Tamar spring ! the music of thy name. 

On through thy goodly channel, on ! to the sea ! 

Pass amid heathery vale, tall rock, fair bough ; 
But never more with footstep pure and free, 

Or face so meek with happiness as now. 

Fair is the future scenery of thy days, 

Thy course domestic, and thy paths of pride : 

Depths that give back the soft-eyed violet's gaze, 
Shores where tall navies march to meet the tide. 

Yet false the vision, and untrue the dream, 

That lures thee from thy native wilds to stray : 

A thousand griefs will mingle with thy stream. 
Unnumbered hearts will sigh these waves away. 

Scenes fierce with men, thy seaward current laves ; 

Harsh multitudes will throng thy gentle brink ; 
Back with the grieving concourse of thy waves. 

Home to the waters of thy childhood, shrink. 

Thou heedest not ! thy dream is of the shore. 
Thy heart is quick with life ; on ! to the sea ! 

How will the voice of thy far streams implore 
Again amid these peaceful weeds to be ! 

My soul ! my soul ! a happier choice be thine, — 
Thine the hushed valley and the lonely sod ; 

False dream, far vision, hollow hope, resign. 
Fast by our Tamar spring, alone with God ! " 

1 Tamar in Cornish is Taw-mawr, the great water ; Tavy is Tawvechan, 
the lesser water. 



TONACOMBE. 63 

In the parish of Morwenstow is one very interest- 
ing old house, Tonacombe, or, as it was originally 
called, Tidnacombe. It belonged originally to the 
Jourdains, passed to the Kempthornes, the Wad- 
dons, and from thence to the Martyns. The present 
proprietor is the Rev. W. Waddon Martyn, rector of 
Lifton. 

It is an ancient mansion of the sixteenth century, 
quite perfect and untouched, very small and plain, 
but in its way a gem, and well deserving a visit. It 
is low, crouching to the ground like the trees of the 
district, as for shelter, or as a ptarmigan cowering 
from the hawk, with wings spread over her young. 
A low gate, with porter's lodge at the side, leads 
into a small yard, into which look the windows of 
the hall. The hall goes to the roof with open tim- 
bers : it is small, — thirty feet long, — but perfect in 
its way, with minstrel's gallery, large open fireplace 
with andirons, and adorned with antlers, old weap- 
ons, and banners bearing the arms of the Jourdains, 
Kempthornes, Waddons, and Martyns. The hall 
gives access to a dark panelled parlor, with peculiar 
and handsome brass andirons in the old fireplaces, 
looking out through a latticed window into the old 
walled garden, or Paradise. 

It is curious that Mr. Kingsley, when writing 
"Westward Ho!" should have overlooked Tona- 
combe, and laid some of his scenes at Chapel in the 
same parish, where there never was an old house or 
any traditions. Probably he did not know of the 
existence of this charming old mansion. The min- 
strel's gallery was divided off from the hall, and 



64 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

converted into a bedroom ; but Mr. Hawker pointed 
out its original destination to the owner, and he at 
once threw down the lath-and-plaster partition, and 
restored the hall to its original proportions.^ The 
hall was also fiat-ceiled across ; but the vicar of Mor- 
wenstow discovered the oaken roof above the ceiling, 
and persuaded Mr. Martyn to expose it to view. A 
narrow slit in the wall from the bedroom of the lady 
of the house allowed her to command a view of her 
lord at his carousals, and listen to his sallies. 

Morwenstow Church stands on the steep slope of 
a hill. 

" My Saxon shrine ! the only ground 

Wherein this weary heart hath rest ; 
What years the birds of God have found 

Along thy walls their sacred nest. 
The storm, the blast, the tempest shock, 

Have beat upon those walls in vain : 
She stands ! a daughter of the rock. 

The changeless God's eternal fane. 

Firm was their faith, the ancient bands. 
The wise of heart in wood and stone, 

Who reared with stern and trusty hands 
These dark gray towers of days unknown. 

1 Tonacombe was panelled by John Kempthorne, who died in 1591. The 
panelling remains in three of the rooms, and the initials J. K. and K. K. 
(Katherine Kempthorne) appear in each. The date is also given, 1578, "on the 
panelling. In the large parlor on two shields are the arms of Ley quartered 
with those of Jordan and Kempthorne impaling Courtenay and Redvers. 
Prince, in his Worthies of Devon, gives a notice of Sir John Kempthorne, 
Kt., who put up this panelling. He is buried in the Morwenstow church, 
where there is an interesting incised stone to his memory under the altar. His 
wife, Katherine Kempthorne, daughter of Sir Piers Courtenay of Ugbrook, is 
also buLled there. 



MORWENSTOW CHURCH. 65 

They filled these aisles with many a thought; 

They bade each nook some truth reveal ; 
The pillared arcli its legend brought; 

A doctrine came with roof and wall. 

Huge, mighty, massive, hard, and strong, 

Were the choice stones they lifted then; 
The vision of their hope was long, — 

They knew their God, those faithful men. 
They pitched no tent for change or death, 

No home to last man's shadowy day : 
There ! there ! the everlasting breath 

Would breathe whole centuries away." 

It is a church of very great interest, consisting of 
nave, chancel, and two aisles. The arcade of the 
north aisle is remarkably fine, and of two dates. 
Two semicircular arches are richly carved with Nor- 
man zigzag and billet : one is plain, eventually in- 
tended to be carved like the other two. The remain- 
ing two arches are transition early English, pointed 
and plain. At the spring of the sculptured arches, 
in the spandrels, are very spirited projecting heads : 
one of a ram is remarkably well modelled. The 
vicar, who mused over his church, and sought a 
signification in every thing, believed that this repre- 
sented the ram caught in a thicket by the horns, 
and was symbolical of Christ, the true sacrifice. 
Another projecting head is spirited, — the mouth is 
contorted with mocking laughter : this, he asserted, 
was the head of Arius. Another head, with the 
tongue lolling out, was a heretic deriding the sacred 
mysteries. 

But his most singular fancy was with respect to 



66 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

the chevron ornamentation on the arcade. When 
first I visited the church, I exclaimed at the beauty 
of the zigzag moulding. 

" Zigzag ! zigzag ! " echoed the vicar scornfully. 
" Do you not see that it is near the font that this 
ornament occurs .-' It is the ripple of the lake of 
Genesareth, the Spirit breathing upon the waters 
of baptism. Look without the church, — there is the 
restless old ocean thundering with all his waves : you 
can hear the roar from here. Look within, — all is 
calm : there plays over the baptismal pool only the 
Dove who fans it into ripples with his healing wings." 

The font is remarkably rude, an uncouth, misshapen 
block of stone from the shore, scooped out, its only 
ornamentation being a cable twisted round it, rudely 
carved. The font is probably Saxon. 

The entrance door to the nave is of very fine Nor- 
man work in three orders, but defaced by the removal 
of the outer order, which has been converted into the 
door of the porch. Mr. Hawker, observing that the 
porch door was Norman, concluded that his church 
possessed a unique specimen of a Norman porch ; 
but it was pointed out to him that this door was noth- 
ing but the outer order of that into the church, re- 
moved from its place ; and then he determined, as 
soon as he could collect sufficient money to restore 
the church, to pull down the porch, and replace the 
Norman doorway to its original condition. 

The church is dedicated to St. John the Baptist. 
A little stream runs through the graveyard, and 
rushes down the hill to the porch door, where it is 
diverted, and carried off to water the glebe. This, he 



MORWENSTOW CHURCH. 67 

thought, was brought through the churchyard for 
symbolic reasons, to typify Jordan, near which the 
Baptist ministered. The descent into the church is 
by three steps. " Every church dedicated to John 
the Baptizer," he said in one of his sermons, "is thus 
arranged. We go down into them, as those who 
were about to be baptized of John went down into 
the water. The Spirit that appeared when Christ 
descended into Jordan hovers here, over that font, 
over you, over me, and ever will hover here as long as 
a stone of Morwenna's church stands on this green 
slope, and a priest of God ministers in it." The 
south arcade of the nave is much posterior to that on 
the north side. One of the capitals bears the inscrip- 
tion : — 

THIS WAS MADE ANNO MVCLX4 (1564). 

Another capital bears : — 

THIS IS THE HOUSE OF THE LORD. 

It has been put up inverted. The arcade is rich 
and good for the date. 

Of the same date are the carved oak benches. A 
few only are earlier, and bear the symbols of the 
transfixed heart on the spear, the nails, and cross. 
These Mr. Hawker found laid as flooring under the 
pews, their faces planed. The rest bear, on shields, 
sea-monsters. There was a fine oak screen very 
much earlier in style than the benches. When Mr. 
Hawker arrived at Morwenstow, the clerk said to 
him, " Please your honor, I have done you a very 
gude turn. I've just been and cut down and burned 
a rubbishina: old screen that hid the chancel." 



68 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

"You had much better have burnt yourself!" he 
exclaimed. "Show me what remains." 

Only a few fragments of the richly sculptured and 
gilt cornice, and one piece of tracery, remained. 
The cornice represents doves flying amidst oak-leaves 
and vine-branches, and a fox running after them. 
The date not later than 1535, when a screen in the 
same style and character was erected at Broadwood 
Widger.^ 

Mr. Hawker collected every fragment, and put the 
pieces together with bits of modern and poor carved 
wood, and cast-iron tracery, and constructed there- 
with a not ineffective rood-screen. 

Outside the screen is an early incised cross in the 
floor, turned with feet to the west, marking the grave 
of a priest. " The flock lie with their feet to the 
east, looking for the rising of the day-star. But the 
pastor always rests with his head to the east, and feet 
westward, that at the resurrection day, when all 
rise, he may be facing those for whom he must give 
an account to the Maker and Judge of all, and may 
say with the prophet. Behold, I and the children whom 
the Lord hath given me." 

The chancel was originally lighted by lancets, 
which have, however, been blocked up and plastered 
over. The floor he kept strewn with southernwood 
and thyme, "for angels to smell to." 

The east wall was falling, and in 1849 "^^^ rebuilt, 
nnd a stained window by Warrington inserted, given 
by the late Lord Clinton. It represents St. Mor- 

1 The date is on a scroll, which is in a hand descending from the clouds, 
upon one of the bench-ends. Benches and screens are of the same date. 



THE CHANCEL. 69 

wenna teaching Editha, daughter of Ethelwolf/ be- 
tween St. Peter and St. Paul. The window is very 
poor and coarse in drawing and in color. The ancient 
piscina in the wall is of early English date. 

Mr. Hawker discovered under the pavement in the 
church, when reseating it, the base of a small pillar, 
Norman in style, with a hole in it for the rivet which 
attached to it the slender column it supported. This 
he supposed was a piscina drain, and accordingly set 
it up in the recess beside his altar. 

Against his chancel wall he fastened up prints and 
little pictures or texts that pleased him. He had 
against his south wall a portrait of Christ from " The 
Art Journal," in which Mr. Heapy had written an 
article, not remarkable for critical ability, on the va- 
rious miraculous likenesses of Christ preserved in 
Italy and elsewhere, attributed to St. Luke, St. Ve- 
ronica, and others. Mr. Hawker was perfectly con- 
vinced that this was an authentic portrait. Under 
the altar is a very interesting incised stone represent- 
ing the half-figure of Sir John Ley, alias Kempthorne, 
one of the family that possessed Tonacombe A.D. 
1591. 

Mr. Hawker used an old stable, very decayed, on 
the north side of the chancel, as his vestry, and 
descended by a stair from it to the church. Floor 
and roof and stair are now in the last stage of 
decay. 

His altar was small, of wood, and low. He had on 
it a clumsy wooden cross, without figure, vases with 

1 This, as has been aheady shown, is an error.; he confounded St. Mor- 
wenna of Cornwall with St. Modwenna of Burton-on-Trent. 



70 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

bouquets of flowers, and two Cornish serpentine 
candlesticks. 

There was an embroidered frontal on his altar, 
given him in 1843, and used for all seasons alike. 
Considering the veneration in which Mr. Hawker held 
holy things and places, a little more tidiness might 
have been expected ; but his altar was never very 
clean, the top having strewn over it the burnt ends 
of matches with which he had lighted his candles. 
It had also on it a large magnifying-glass, like those 
often on drawing-room tables to assist in the examin- 
ation of photographs. For a long time Mr. Hawker 
used to say matins, litany, and communion-service, 
standing at his altar ; but in late years his curates 
introduced a reading-desk within the chancel near the 
screen. A deal kitchen-table likewise served for the 
furnishing of the chancel. On this he would put his 
mufflers and devotional books. 

The untidy condition of the church affected one of 
his curates, a man of a somewhat domineering char- 
acter, to such an extent that one day he swept up all 
the rubbish he could find in the church, old decora- 
tions of the previous Christmas, decayed southern- 
wood and roses of the foregoing midsummer festivity, 
scraps of old Bibles, prayer-books and manuscript 
scraps of poetry, match-ends, candle-ends, &c. ; and, 
having filled a barrow with all these sundries, he 
wheeled it down to the vicarage-door, rang the bell, 
and asked for Mr. Hawker. The vicar came into the 
porch. 

" This is the rubbish I have found in your church." 

" Not all," said Mr. Hawker. " Complete the pile 



THE CHANCEL. 71 

by seating yourself on the top, and I will see to the 
whole being shot speedily." 

In the chancel is a vine, carved in wood, which 
creeps thence all along the church, — an emblem, 
according to him, of the Christian life. 

"Hearken! there is in old Morwenna's shrine, — 
A lonely sanctuary of the Saxon days. 
Reared by the Severn Sea for prayer and praise, — 

Amid the carved work of the roof, a vine. 

Its root is where the eastern sunbeams fall 
First in the chancel ; then along the wall 

Slowly it travels on, a leafy line. 

With here and there a cluster, and anon 

More and more grapes, until the growth hath gone 

Through arch and aisle. Hearken ! and heed the sign. 
See at the altar-side the steadfast root, 
Mark well the branches, count the summer fruit: 

So let a meek and faithful heart be thine, 

And gather from that tree a parable divine." 

Formerly, whilst saying service he kept his chan- 
cel screen shut, and was invisible to his congregation ; 
but his curates afterwards insisted on the gate being 
left open. The chancel is very dark. 

Access to his pulpit was obtained through a nar- 
row opening in the screen just sixteen inches wide, 
and it was a struggle for him to get through the 
aperture. After a while he abandoned the attempt, 
and had steps into the pulpit erected outside the 
screen. 

Above the screen he set up in late years a large 
cross painted blue with five gold stars on it, the cross 
of the heavens in the southern hemisphere. Near 
the pulpit he erected a curious piece of wood-carving, 



72 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

gilt and colored, which he brought with him from 
Tamerton. It represents a castle attacked by a 
dragon with two heads. From the mouth of a beard- 
less face issues a dove, which is represented flying 
towards the castle. This, he said, was an allegory. 
The castle is the Church assa'iled by Satan, the old 
dragon, through his twofold power, temporal and 
spiritual. But the Holy Spirit proceeding from the 
Son flies to the defence of the Church. On the other 
side of the castle was originally a bearded head, and 
a dove issuing in a similar manner from it ; but it 
has been broken away. This represented the Para- 
clete proceeding from the Father as from the Son. 

In the churchyard of Morwenstow is a granitie 
tomb bearing the following inscription : — 

Here Liet John Maning of . . . 

Who Died Without Issue . . . 

I AM Beried in 

the VI Daie of Av 

GVST 160I, 

John Manning of Stanbury, in Morwenstow, lived 
in the sixteenth century. He married Christiana 
Kempthorne. About six weeks after their marriage 
the husband was gored by a bull in a field between 
Tonacombe and Stanbury. His young bride died of 
grief within the year, and was buried in this altar 
tomb beside him. 

The bed of this ill-fated pair, with their names 
carved on the head-board, was found by Mr. Hawker 
in one of the farms in the parish. He was very 
anxious to get possession of it. He begged it, and 



THE MANNING BED. 73 

when refused offered money, but to no avail : the 
farmer would not part with it. After trying persua- 
sion, entreaty, and offering large sums in vain, he had 
recourse to another expedient. 

The vicar said to the farmer, *' Does it ever strike 

you, S , when lying in that bed, as you do of a 

night, how many corpses have preceded you .-' There 
was first of all poor John Manning, all dead and 
bloody, in 1601, his side ripped up by a bull's horns, 
just where you lie so snug of a night. Then there 
was his bride Christiana, lying there, where your 
wife sleeps, sobbing away her life, dying of a broken 
heart. Just you think, John, when you lie there, of 
that poor lone woman, how her tears dribbled all 
night long over the pillow on which your wife's head 
rests. And one morning, when they came to look at 
her, SHE WAS dead. That was two hundred and 
fifty years ago. What a lot of corpses have occupied 
that bed where you and your wife lie, since then ! 
Think of it, John, of a night, and tell your wife to do 
the same. I dare say the dead flesh has struck a chill 
into the bed, that the feel of it makes you creep all 
over at times at dead of night. Doesn't it, John } 
Two hundred and fifty years ago ! That is about five 
generations, — five men washed and laid out, their 
chins tied up on your pillow, John, and their dead 
eyes looking up at your ceiling ; and five wives dead 
and laid out there too,. and measured for their coffins, 
just where your wife sleeps so warm. And then, 
John, consider, it's most likely some of these farmers 
were married again, so we may say there were at 
least six or seven female corpses, let alone dead 



74 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

babies, in that bed. Why, John, there have been at 
least fourteen corpses in that bed, including John 
Manning bleeding to death, and Christiana weeping 
her life away. Think of that of a night. You will 
find it conducive to good." 

" Parson," said the farmer aghast, " I can never 
sleep in that bed no more. You may take it, and 
welcome." 

So Mr. Hawker got the Manning bed, and set it 
up in the room that commanded the tomb in the 
churchyard ; " so that the bed may look at the grave, 
and the grave at the bed," as he expressed it. 

The writer in " The Standard," already quoted, 
thus describes his first acquaintance with the vicar 
of Morwenstow : — 

" It was on a solemn occasion that we first saw Morwenstow. 
The sea was still surly and troubled, with wild lights breaking 
over it, and torn clouds driving through the sky. Up from the 
shore, along a narrow path between jagged rocks and steep 
banks tufted with thrift, came the vicar, wearing cassock and 
surplice, and conducting a sad procession, which bore along 
with it the bodies of two seamen flung up the same morning on 
the sands. The office used by Mr. Hawker at such times had 
been arranged by himself, — not without reference to certain 
peculiarities, which, as he conceived, were features of the 
primitive Cornish church, the same which had had its bishops 
and its traditions long before the conference of Augustine with 
its leaders under the great oak by the Severn. Indeed, at one 
time he carried his adhesion to these Cornish traditions to 
some unusual lengths. There was, we remember, a peculiar 
yellow vestment, in which he appeared much like a Lama of 
Thibet, which he wore in his house and about his parish, and 
which he insisted was an exact copy of a priestly robe worn by 
St. Pardarn and St. Teilo. We have seen him in this attire 



THE YELLOW PONCHO. 75 

proceeding through the lanes on the back of a well-groomed 
mule, — the only fitting beast, as he remarked, for a church- 
man." 

We have here one instance out of many of the 
manner in which the vicar delighted to hoax visitors. 
The yellow vestment in question was a poncho. It 
came into use in the following manner : — 

Mr. M , a neighbor, was in conversation one 

day with Mr. Hawker, when the latter complained 
that he could not get a greatcoat to his fancy. 

" Why not wear a. poncho .'' " asked Mr. M . 

" Poncho ! what is that .-' " inquired the vicar. 

" Nothing but a blanket with a hole in the middle." 

"Do you put your legs through the hole, and tie 
the four corners over your head .'' " 

" No," answered Mr. M . " I will fetch you my 

poncho, and you can try it on." The poncho was 
brought : it was a dark blue one, and the vicar was 
delighted with it. There was no trouble in putting 
it on. It suited his fancy amazingly ; and next time 
he went to Bideford he bought a yellowish-brown 
blanket, and had a hole cut in the middle, through 
which to thrust his head. 

" I wouldn't wear your livery, M ," said he, 

" nor your political colors, so I have got a yellow 
poncho." 

Those v/ho knew him well can picture to themselves 
the sly twinkle in his eye as he informed his credulous 
visitor that he was invested in the habit of St. Par- 
darn and St. Teilo. 

After a few years at Morwenstow in a hired house, 
the vicar set to work to build himself a vicarage near 



76 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

the church. He chose a spot where he saw lambs 
take shelter from storm ; not so much because he 
thought the spot a "lew" one (that is, a sheltered 
one), as from the fancy that the refuge of the lambs 
should typify the vicarage, the sheltering-place of his 
flock. 

Whilst he was building it Mr. Daniel King came 
over to see him, and was shown the house in course 
of erection. Mr. Daniel King and Mr. Hawker were 
not very cordial friends. 

" Ha ! " said Mr. King, " you know the proverb, — 
' Fools build houses for wise men to live in.' " 

"Yes," answered the vicar promptly; "and I 
know another, — ' Wise men make proverbs, and 
fools quote them.' " 

He had the chimneys of the vicarage built to re- 
semble the towers of churches with which he had 
had to do : one was like Tamerton, another like Mag- 
dalen Hall, a third resembled Wellcombe, a fourth 
Morwenstow. 

When Archdeacon, afterwards Bishop, Wilberforce 
came into the neighborhood to advocate the cause of 
the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, he 
met Mr. Hawker. 

" Look here," said Archdeacon Wilberforce, " I 
have to speak at the meeting at Stratton to-night, 
and I am told that there is a certain Mr. Knight*, 
who will be on the platform, and is a wearyful speaker. 
I have not much time to spare. Is it possible by a 
hint to reduce him to reasonable limits .-' " 

"Not in the least : he is impervious to hints." 

" Can he not be prevented from rising to address 
the meeting:?" 



THE IRREPRESSIBLE SPEAKER. 77 

"That is impossible : he is irrepressible." 

"Then what is to be done ? " 

" Leave him to me, and he will not trouble you." 

At the S. P. G. meeting a crowd had gathered to 
hear the eloquent speaker. Mr. Tom Knight was on 
the platform, waiting his opportunity to rise. 

"O Knight ! " said Mr. Hawker in a whisper, "the 
archdeacon has left his watch behind, and mine is 
also at home : will you lend yours for timing the 
speeches t " 

With some hesitation Mr. Knight pulled his gold 
repeater, with bunch of seals attached, from his fob, 
and gave it to the vicar of Morwenstow. 

Presently Mr. Knight was on his legs to make a 
speech. Now, the old gentleman was accustomed, 
when addressing a public audience, to swing his 
bunch of seals round and round in his left hand. 
Directly he began his oration, his hand went instinc- 
tively to his fob in quest of the bunch : it was not 
there. He stammered, and felt again, floundered in 
his speech, and, after a few feeble efforts to recover 
himself, and find his bunch of seals, sat down, red 
and melting and angry. 

Mr. Hawker had a pair of stags, which he called 
Robin Hood and Maid Marian, given to him by the 
late Sir Thomas Acland, from his park at Killerton, 
These he kept in the long open combe in front of the 
house, through which a stream dashes onwards to 
the sea. One day the same Mr. Knight proceeded 
too curiously to approach Robin Hood, when the 
deer ran at him, and butted him down. The clergy- 
man shrieked with fear, and the stag would have 



78 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Struck him with his antlers had not the vicar rushed 
to the rescue. Being an immensely strong man, he 
caught Robin by the horns, and drew his head back, 
and held him fast whilst the frightened man crawled 
away. 

"I was myself in some difficulty," said Mr. Hawker, 
when telling the story. "The stag would have turned 
on me when I let go, and I did not quite see my way 
to escape ; but that wretched man did nothing but 
yell for his wig and hat, which had come off, and 
were under the deer's feet ; as if my life were of no 
account beside his foxy old wig and battered beaver." 

Dr. Phillpotts, the late Bishop of Exeter, not long 
after this occurred, came to Morwenstow to visit Mr. 
Hawker. Whilst being shown the landscape from 
the garden, the bishop's eye rested on Robin Hood. 

" Why ! that stag which butted and tossed Mr, 
Knight is still suffered to live ! It might have killed 
him." 

" No harm done, my lord," said Mr. Hawker. " He 
is a very Low Church parson," 

Early next morning loud cries for assistance pene- 
trated the vicar's bedroom. Looking from his win- 
dow, he beheld the bishop struggling with Robin 
Hood, who, like his fellow of Sherwood, seems to 
have had little respect for episcopal dignity. Robin 
had taken a fancy to the bishop's apron, and, gently 
approaching, had secured one corner in his mouth. 

There is a story of a Scottish " curate," who, when 
Jenny Geddes seized him by his " prelatical " gown 
as he was passing into the pulpit, quietly loosed the 
strings, and allowed Jenny and the gown to fall back- 



VISITORS. 79 

ward together. There was no such luck for the 
bishop. He sought in vain to unfasten the apron, 
which descended farther and farther into Robin's 
throat, until the vicar, coming to the rescue, restored 
the apron to daylight, and sent the ** masterful thief " 
about his business, 

Mr. Hawker accompanied the late bishop of Exeter 
on his first visit to Tintagel, and delighted in telling 
how the scene, then far more out of the world than 
it can now be considered, impressed the powerful 
mind of Dr. Phillpotts. He stood alone for some 
time on the extreme edge of the castle cliff, while 
the sun went down before him in the tumbling, foam- 
ing Atlantic a blaze of splendor, flaking the rocks 
and ruined walls with orange and carmine ; and as 
he turned away he muttered the line from Zanga, — 

" I like this rocking of the battlements." 

Another visitor to Morwenstow was the Poet 
Laureate ; he presented himself at the door, and sent 
in his card, and was received with cordiality and hos- 
pitality by the vicar, who, however, was not sure that 
the stranger was the poet. After lunch they walked 
together on the cliffs, and Mr. Hawker pointed to the 
Tonacombe Brook forming a cascade into the sea. 

" Falling like a broken purpose," he observed. 

"You are quoting my lines," said the Poet Laureate. 

"And thus it was," as Mr. Hawker said when 
relating the incident, " that I learned whom I was 
entertaining." He flattered himself that it was he 
who had introduced the Arthurian cycle of legends 
to his notice. 



8o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Charles Kingsley owed also to Mr. Hawker his 
first introduction to scenery which he afterwards 
rendered famous. Stowe and Chapel, places which 
figured so largely in "Westward Ho ! " were explored 
by them together ; and the vicar of Morwenstow was 
struck, as every one must have been struck who ac- 
companied Mr. Kingsley under similar circumstances, 
by the wonderful insight and skill which seized at 
once on the most characteristic features of the scene, 
and found at the instant the fitting words in which to 
describe them. 

Mr. Hawker, for his own part, not only did this for 
his own corner of Cornwall, but threw into his prose 
and his poetry the peculiar feeling of the district, the 
subtle aroma which, in less skilful hands, is apt to 
vanish altogether. 

His ballads found their way into numerous publi- 
cations without his name being appended to them, 
and sometimes were fathered on other writers. In a 
letter to T. Carnsew, Esq., dated Jan. 2, 1858, he says 
as much. 

My dear Sir, — A happy New Year to yours and you, 
and many of them ! as we say in the West. The kind interest 
you have taken in young Blight's book ^ induces me to send you 
the royal reply to my letter. Through Col. Phipps to the queen 
I sent a simple statement of the case, and asked leave for the 
youth to be allowed to dedicate his forthcoming book to the 
Duke of Cornwall. I did not, between ourselves, expect to 
succeed, because no such thing has hitherto been permitted, 
and also because I was utterly unknown, thank God, at court. 
But it has been always my fate to build other people's houses. 
For others I usually succeed ; for myself, always fail. Let me 

1 Ancient Crosses in Cornwall, by J. T. BJight. Penzance, 1858. 



BALLADS APPROPRIATED. 8l 

tell you one strange thing. Every year of my life for full ten 
years I have had to write to some publisher, editor, or author, 
to claim the paternity of a legend or a ballad or a page of prose, 
which others have been attempting to foist on the public as 
their own. Last year I had to rescue a legendary ballad — ' The 
Sisters of Glennectan ' — from the claims of a Mr. H. of Exe- 
ter College.^ Yesterday I wrote for the January number of 
' Blackwood,' wherein I see published ' The Bells of Bottreaux,' 
a name and legend which, if any one should claim, I say with 
Jack Cade, ' He lies, for I invented it myself ! ' " 

" The Silent Tower of Bottreaux " is one of his 
best ballads. To the poem he appends the following 
note :^ "The rugged heights that line the seashore in 
the neighborhood of Tintagel castle and church are 
crested with towers. Among these, that of Bottreaux 
Castle, or, as it is now written, Bos-castle, is without 
bells. The silence of this wild and lonely church- 
yard on festive or solemn occasions is not a little 
striking. On inquiring as to the cause, the legend 
related in the text was told me, as a matter of implicit 
belief in those parts." 

THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAUX. 

Tintagel bells ring o'er the tide : 

The boy leans on his vessel's side ; 

He hears that sound, and dreams of home 

Soothe the wild orphan of the foam. 

1 The mysterious sisters really lived and died in North Devon. Mr. 
Hawker transplanted the story to St. Knighton's Kieve. Any attempt in 
prose or verse to associate these sisters with Glennectan he afterwards resented 
as a literary theft. 

2 Ecclesia : a volume of poems. Oxford, 1840. Really, the church of 
Forrabury on the height above Boscastle, which is a hamlet in the parish of 
Forrabury. 



82 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

" Come to thy God in time ! " 
Thus saith their pealing chime : 
" Youth, manhood, old age, past, 
Come to thy God at last ! " 

But why are Bottreaux's echoes still ? 

Her tower stands proudly on the hill : 

Yet the strange chough that home hath found, 

The lamb lies sleeping on the ground. 

" Come to thy God in time ! " 

Should be her answering chime. 

" Come to thy God at last ! " 

Should echo on the blast. 

The ship rode down with courses free, 
The daughter of a distant sea : 
Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored, 
The merry Bottreaux bells on board. 

" Come to thy God in time ! " 

Rang out Tintagel chime. 

" Youth, manhood, old age, past. 

Come to thy God at last ! " 

The pilot heard his native bells 

Hang on the breeze in fitful swells. 

" Thank God ! " with reverent brow he cried : 

" We make the shore with evening's tide." 

" Come to thy God in time ! " 

It was his marriage-chime. 

Youth, manhood, old age, past, 

His bell must ring at last. 

Thank God, thou whining knave, on land ! 
But thank, at sea, the steersman's hand. 
The captain's voice above the gale, 
Thank the good ship and ready sail. 



THE BELLS OF BOTTREAUX. 83 

" Come to thy God in time ! " 
Sad grew the boding chime. 
" Come to thy God at last ! " 
Boomed heavy on the blast. 

Up rose that sea, as if it heard 
The mighty Master's signal word. 
What thrills the captain's whitening lip ? 
The death-groans of his sinking ship ! 

" Come to thy God in time ! " 

Swung deep the funeral chime. 
, " Grace, mercy, kindness, past, 

Come to thy God at last ! " 

Long did the rescued pilot tell, 
When gray hairs o'er his forehead fell, — 
While those around would hear and weep, — 
That fearful judgment of the deep. 

" Come to thy God in time ! " 

He read his native chime : 

Youth, manhood, old age, past, 

His bell rung out at last ! 

Still, when the storm of Bottreaux's waves 
Is wakening in his weedy caves, 
Those bells that sullen surges hide 
Peal their deep notes beneath the tide. 

" Come to thy God in time ! " 

Thus saith the ocean chime : 

" Storm, billow, whirlwind, past, 

Come to thy God at last ! " * 

I may be allowed, as this is a gossiping book, here 
to tell a story of Boscastle, which came to my ears 
when staying there a few years ago, and which is 
true. 

1 This ballad has been set to music by Mrs. Arundel, and is published by 
Messrs. Weekes. 



84 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

There lived at Boscastle, within twenty years, an 
old seafaring man, whom we will call Daddy Tregel- 
las : his real name has escaped me. A widow in 
the village died, leaving a fair young daughter of 
eighteen, very delicate and consumptive, without a 
home or relation. Daddy Tregellas had known the 
widow, and felt great pity for the orphan, but how to 
help her he did not see. After much turning the 
matter over in his mind, he thought the only way 
in which he could make her a home, and provide her 
with comforts, without giving the gossips occasion 
to talk, was by marrying her. And married accord- 
ingly they were. The Boscastle people to this day 
tell of the tenderness of the old man for his young, 
delicate wife : it was that of a father for a daughter, 
— how he watched the carnation spots on her cheek 
with intense anxiety, and listened with anguish to 
her cough ; how he walked out with her on the 
cliffs, wrapping shawls round her ; and sat in church 
with his eyes fixed on her whilst he sang, listened, or 
prayed. The beautiful girl was his idol, his pet. 

She languished, in spite of all his care. He 
nursed her through her illness like a mother, with 
his rough, brown hand as gentle as that of a woman. 
She died propped up in bed, with her chestnut hair 
flowing over his blue sailor's jersey, as he held her 
head on his breast. 

When he had laid his pet in Forrabury church- 
yard, the light of his life was extinguished. The old 
man wandered about the cliffs all day, in sunshine 
and in storm, growing more hollow-cheeked and dull- 
eyed, his thin hair lank, his back bowed, speaking to 
no one, and breaking slowly but surely. 



THE PET OF BOSCASTLE. 85 

But Mr. Avery, the shipbuilder, about this time 
laid the keel of a little vessel, and she was reared in 
Boscastle haven. The new ship interested the old 
man ; and, when the figure-head was set up, he fan- 
cied he traced in it a likeness to his dead wife. 

" It is — it is the Pet," faltered the old man. 

The owner heard the exclamation, and said, " So 
shall it be. She shall be called 'The Pet.' " 

And now the old love, which had wound itself 
round the wife, began to attach itself to the little 
vessel. Every day the old man was on the quay 
watching the growth of " The Pet : " he could not 
bear her out of his sight. When " The Pet " was 
ready to be launched, Mr. Avery offered Tregellas 
the position of captain to her. The old man's joy 
was full : he took the command, and sailed for Bristol 
for coals. 

One stormy day, when a furious west wind was 
driving upon the land, and bowling mountains of 
green water against the coast, it was noised that a 
vessel was visible, scudding before the wind, in dan- 
gerous proximity to the shore. The signal-rock was 
speedily crowded with anxious watchers. The coast- 
guardsman observed her attentively with his glass, 
and said, "It is 'The Pet' The hatchways are all 
closed." 

Eyes watched her bounding through the waves, 
now on the summit of a huge green billow, now deep 
in its trough, til^ she was lost to sight in the rain 
and spondrift. 

That was the last seen of "The Pet:" she, with 
old Daddy Tregellas and all on board, went to the 
bottom in that dreadful storm. 



86 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Boscastle is a hamlet of quaint, gabled, weather- 
beaten cottages, inhabited by sailors, clinging to the 
steep sides of the hills that dip rapidly to the harbor, 
a mere cleft in the rocks, in shape like an S. 

The entrance is between huge precipices of black 
rock, one of them scooped out into a well : it is 
the resort of countless gulls, which breed along the 
ledges. The harbor is masked by an islet of rock 
covered by a meagre crop of sea-grass and thrift. 

Mr. Claud Hawker, the brother of the subject of 
this memoir, resides at Penally in Boscastle. 



MR. HAWKER'S POLITICS. 87 



CHAPTER IV. 

Mr. Hawker's Politics. — Election of 1857. — His Zeal for the Laborers. — 
" The Poor Man and his Parish Church." — Letter to a Landlord. — Death 
of his Man, Tape. — Kindness to the Poor. — Verses over his Door. — 
Reckless Charity. — Hospitality. — A Breakdown. — His Eccentric Dress. 
— The Devil and his Bam, — His Ecclesiastical Vestments. — Dislike of 
Ritualists. — Ceremonial. — The Nine Cats. — The Church Garden. — 
Kindness to Animals. — The Rooks and Jackdaws. — The Well of St. 
John. — Letter to a Young Man entering the University. 

Mr. Hawker in politics, as far as he had any, was 
a Liberal; and in 1857 he voted for Mr. Robartes, 
afterwards Lord Robartes. 

March 26, 1857. My dear Sir, — Your mangold is remark- 
ably fine. I must, of course, visit Stratton, to vote for Rob- 
artes ; and I do wish I could be told how far a few votes would 
throw out Kendall by helping Carew, then I would give the 
latter one. If I can contrive to call at Flexbury, I will ; but 
Mrs. Hawker is so worried by bad eyes that she will not risk 
the roads. Last time we were annoyed by some rascals, who 
came after the carriage, shouting, " Kendall and protection ! " 
It will be a dark infamy for Cornwall if Nick, the traitor to 

every party, should get in. Tom S has been out to-day, 

blustering for Nick, but, when asked what party he belonged 
to, could not tell. How should he ? A note from M to- 
night, dated Bude, informs me that he is there. I am glad to 
find that, though not yet registered as a Cornish voter, his heart 
and wishes are for Robartes. It will always be to me a source 



88 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

of pride, that I was the first, or well-nigh, I think, the only 
clergyman in this deanery who voted for a Free-trade candi- 
date. Yours, my dear sir, faithfully, 

R. S. Hawker. 

J. Carnsew, Esq. 

... I cannot conclude without a word about the mighty 
theme of elections. When Carew's address arrived, and I read 
it to Mrs. Hawker, her remark was, " It doesn't ring well." 

Nor did it. There were sneaky symptoms about it. S 

writes that " sinister influence, apart from political, has been 
brought to bear against Carew." We save a breakfast by this ; 
for Mrs. Hawker had announced her intention to give one, as 
she did last time, to Mr. Robartes's voters ; and I save what is 
to me important, — a ride. When I was in Oxford, there was 
a well-known old man. Dr. Crowe, public officer, &c. He had 
risen from small beginnings, and therefore he was a man of 
mind. Somewhat rough, and so much the better, as old wine 
is. Him the young, thoughtless fellows delighted to tease after 
dinner in the common-room, over their wine at New College. 
(N.B. The rumor used to run, that, when the fellows of the 
college retired from the hall, the butler went before, with a 
warming-pan, which he passed over the seat of every stuffed 
chair, that the reverend fogies might not catch cold as they sat 
down). Well, one day, said a junior to old Crowe, " Do you 
know. Dr. C, what has happened to Jem Ward ? " — " No, not 
I. Is he hanged?" — "Oh, no! they say he is member of 
ParHament." — " Well, what of that ? " — " Oh, but consider 
what a thing for a fellow like that to get into the House of 
Commons — such a blackguard f'' — "And pray, young man, 
where should a blackguard go, but into the House of Commons, 
eh?" 

Good-night, dear sir, good-night. Yours faithfully, 

R. S. Hawker. 

But Mr. Hawker's sympathies were by no means 
bound up with one party. He was as enthusiastic 
in 1873 for the return of a Conservative member for 



ELECTION AT EXETER. 89 

Exeter, as he had been in 1857 for that of a Free- 
trade candidate for East Cornwall. 

MoRWENSTOW, Dec. II, 1873. ^fy dear Mr. and Mrs. 
Mills, — The good tidings of your success in Exeter has only 
just arrived in our house ; and I make haste to congratulate 
you, and to express our hearty sympathy with Mr. Mills's great 

triumph. Only yesterday Mr. M was here, and we were 

discussing the probabilities and chances of the majority. I had 
heard from Powderham Castle that the contest would be severe, 
and the run close ; but every good man's wishes and sympathies 
were with Mr. Mills. I hope that God will bless and succor 
him, and make his election an avenue of good and usefulness 
to his kind, which I am sure you both will value beyond the 
mere honor and rank. Our men heard guns last night, but 
could not decide whether the sound came from Bude or Lundy. 
But to-day I heard there were great and natural rejoicings 
around your Efford home. How you must have exulted also at 
your husband's strong position in London, and at the School 
Board ! He must have been very deeply appreciated there, 
and will, of course, succeed to the chairmanship of his district. 

You will be sorry to hear that Mr. R ^ has disappointed us, 

and will not be back again until after Christmas. So, although 
I am so weak that I can hardly stagger up to the church, and 
I incur deadly risk, I must go through my duty on Sunday. 
Our dutiful love to you both. I am yours ever faithfully, 

R. S. Hawker. 

It was his intense sympathy with the poor, that 
constituted the Radicalism in Mr. Hawker's opinions. 
A thorough-going Radical he was not, for he was 
filled with the most devoted veneration for the Crown 
and Constitution ; but his tender heart bled for the 
laborer, whom he regarded as the sufferer through 
protection, and he fired up at what he regarded as an 

1 A clergyman on whom he had calculated for his assistance in his services. 



90 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

injustice. When he broke forth into words, it was 
with the eloquence and energy of a prophet. What 
can be more vigorous and vehement than the follow- 
ing paper, which he wrote in 1861 } 

" There are in Morwenstow about six thousand acres of 
arable land, rented by seventy farmers ; forty large, and thirty 
small. 

" There are less than sixty able-bodied laborers, and twenty- 
five half-men, at roads, &c. 

"With this proportion of one laborer to a hundred acres, 
there can be no lack of employ. 

" The rate of wages is eight shillings a week, paid, not in 
money, but by truck of corn. 

" A fixed agreement of a hundred and thirty-five pounds of 
corn, or eighteen gallons (commonly called seven scores), is 
allotted to each man in lieu of fourteen shillings, be the market 
price what it will. 

" A man with a wife and three or four children will consume 
the above quantity of corn in fourteen days. 

"Therefore such a man, receiving for his fortnight's work 
fourteen shillings' worth of corn, will only leave in his master's 
hand one shilling a week, which one shilling usually is paid for 
house-rent. 

" Now, this inevitable outlay for the loaf and for the rent 
will leave — for fuel, for shoes, for clothing, for groceries, for 
tools, for club . . . nil : ol. os. od. 

'■'■Bill, but. But in the year 1860-61, the fourteen shillings 
paid for that corn will only yield in flour and meal ten shillings 
sixpence, the millers being judges. 

" If a man have only a wife and two children to house and 
feed, his surplus money above his bread and rent will be one 
shilling (?) a week beyond the above example. But, but, in the 
recited list of exigencies, will that suffice? 

"It was from a knowledge of the state of the parish, that I 
assented to the collection, of which I enclose a statement. 

" Two farmers only had the audacity to allege that the effort 



APPEAL FOR THE LABORERS. 91 

was uncalled for ; and a laborer of one of these must have gone 
barefooted to his work the whole winter, had not the money for 
a pair of shoes been advanced to him by the victim of the 
parish. 

"It appears to be a notion entertained by a chief patron of 
all our charities, that the wages and the treatment of the labor- 
ers in Kilkhampton are more favorable than in Morwenstow. 
But, but, but — 

" What is the weekly wage ? 

" How paid ? 

" If in corn, at what price ? 

" And are there contracts in other respects ? 

" These are not questions which I want to be answered, but 
only questions for your own private consideration." 

A letter narrating the success of this appeal is in 
ray hands, and may find a place here. 

Feb. 21, 1861. My dear Sir, — I have postponed replying 
to your last letter until I could acquaint you with the progress 
or result of the subscriptions to the poor. Lord J. Thynne has 
given five pounds ; Mr. Dayman, three pounds ; Messrs. Cann 
and Harris, church-wardens, one pound each ; other parishion- 
ers, about three or four pounds. So that we shall divide twenty- 
five pounds and upwards among the really destitute. I am 
much obliged to you for your readiness to allow my influence to 
count with that of others in the parish ; but the reference in my 
letter to the church-wardens was to the past, and not altogether 
to the future. Be this as it may, when Moses languishes, manna 
falls, thank God ! 

You will be sorry to hear that Mrs. H is very ill. Her 

attack is so full of peril, and demands such incessant medical 

succor, that Capt. H resolved on removing her while she 

could be moved to London, to the charge of her accustomed 
doctor ; and thither they went last Monday. Our loss is deep. 
It was indeed a gift from God, to have a thorough lady and gen- 
tleman in the parish to appreciate the utterance of truth, and 
the effects of duty : it was indeed a happiness, and it is now 



92 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

gone. Mrs. H had taken great trouble with our choir. 

Every Thursday evening she has allowed them to come to learn 
the musical scale, and they were fast learning to read and sing 
the notes. 

We have been visited of late by the new kind of hurricane, 
the kvkTlcjv, or whirl. It is just as fierce and strong as the old 
storm ; but the scene of its onslaught is rigidly local : indeed, 
we might almost call them parochial. They had theirs at 

Kilkhampton two days before Mr. T 's christening. The 

Poughill rush was the week after the vicar brought home his 
wife. A pinnacle was snapped o£E there, and the wall of the 
church rent. At Kilkhampton the damage done was in the 
immediate vicinity of the church. We had ours last night, but 
the church did not suffer harm, although two-thirds of the roof 
are rotten, and the pinnacles overhang. Lent is always the 
demon's time, and the strength of evil. A woman who is just 
come in tells me that the new chimney in the kitchen at Tidna- 
combe was blown down last night, and is now lying on the roof 
in fragments. Yours faithfully, 

R. S. Hawker. 

The energy with which he upheld the cause of the 
laborer was one cause of some unreasonable resent- 
ment against him being felt by the farmers; and this 
explains his expression "the victim of the parish," 
in reference to himself in his appeal. 

The same intense sympathy with the poor and the 
down-trodden breaks out in his ballad, "The Poor 
Man and his Parish Church," of which I insert a few 
verses : — 

" The poor have hands and feet and eyes. 

Flesh, and a feeling mind : 
They breathe the breath of mortal sighs, 

They are of human kind ; 
They weep such tears as others shed, 

And now and then they smile ; 



THE POOR MAN AND HIS PARISH CHURCH:' 93 

For sweet to them is that poor bread 
They win with honest toil. 

The poor men have their wedding-day, 

And children climb their knee : 
They have not many friends, for they 

Are in such misery. 
They sell their youth, their skill, their pains, 

For hire in hill and glen : 
The very blood within their veins. 

It flows for other men. 

They should have roofs to call their own 

When they grow old and bent, — 
Meek houses built of dark gray stone, 

Worn laborers' monument. 
There should they dwell beneath the thatch, 

With threshold calm and free : 
No stranger's hand should lift the latch 

To mark their poverty. 

Fast by the church these walls should stand, 

Her aisles in youth they trod : 
They have no home in all the land 

Like that old house of God ! 
There, there, the sacrament was shed 

That gave them heavenly birth, 
And lifted up the poor man's head 

With princes of the earth. 

There in the chancel's voice of praise 

Their simple vows were poured. 
And angels looked with equal gaze 

On Lazarus and his Lord. 
There, too, at last, they calmly sleep. 

Where hallowed blossoms bloom ; 
And eyes as fond and faithful weep 

As o'er the rich man's tomb. 



94 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

I know not why ; but when they tell 

Of houses fair and wide, 
Where troops of poor men go to dwell 

In chambers side by side, 
I dream of an old cottage door, 

With garlands overgrown, 
And wish the children of the poor 

Had flowers to call their own. 

And when they vaunt that in these walls 

They have^their worship-day. 
Where the stern signal coldly calls 

The prisoned poor to pray, 
I think upon an ancient home 

Beside the churchyard wall. 
Where roses round the porch would roam, 

And gentle jasmines fall. 

I see the old man of my lay. 

His gray head bowed and bare : 
He kneels by our dear wall to pray, 

The sunlight in his hair. 
Well ! they may strive, as wise men will, 

To work with wit and gold : 
I think my own dear Cornwall still 

Was happier of old. 

Oh for the poor man's church again, 

With one roof over all. 
Where the true hearts of Cornishmen 

Might beat beside the wall ! 
The altars where, in hoHer days. 

Our fathers were forgiven, 
Who went with meek and faithful ways, 

Through the old aisles, to heaven ! " 

A letter to one of the landlords in his parish 
show^s hov^ vehemently Mr. Hawker could urge the 
claims of one of the farmers. 



APPEAL FOR A FARMER. 95 

MORWENSTOW, May 21, 1867. My dear Mr. Martyn, — 
Just as I was about to write to you on other matters, your adver- 
tisement for the letting of your lands reached me. It is net, of 
course, my duty to express any opinion between landlord and 
tenant, or to give utterance to my sympathy with any one 
candidate over another; yet there is a matter on which I am 
sure you will forgive me if I venture to touch. It is on the 

tenancy of your farm of Ruxmoore by C . He has been 

my churchwarden during the whole of his last term. He and 
his have been the most faithful adherents to the church of their 
baptism in my whole parish ; and he has been to me so sincere 
and attached a friend in his station of life, that he without Rux- 
moore, or Ruxmoore without the C s, would be to me an 

utterly inconceivable regret. It was I who first introduced him 
to the choice of your family, twenty-eight years agone ; and 
throughout the whole of that time he has been, in his humble 
way, entirely faithful to me and to you. I do not imagine that 
you intend to exclude him from your farm, but I venture to 
hope that you will put me in possession confidentially of your 
wishes in regard to his future tenancy. Do you mean that he 
shall tender as before ? and does your valuation of his part of 
your land ascend ? He is not aware that I write to you hereon ; 
and, if you are disinclined to answer my questions, I hope you 
will allow me to record my hearty hope and trust that you will 
give him the preference over other new and local candidates, in 
or out of Morwenstow. I have firm confidence in the justice 

and mercy of your heart. But you must not infer that C 

alone of all your tenants is, or has been, the object of my 
special regard. ... In Wellcombe, B , whom you remem- 
ber, no doubt, by name, is one of my regular communicants. 
And now the very kind and generous sympathy which Mrs. 
Martyn and yourself have shown towards my school demands 
a detail of our success. 

The children on the day-school books amount to sixty-three. 
The inspectors (diocesan) pronounce it to be the most satisfac- 
tory school in their district. I always visit and instruct the 
children in person once a week. Mrs. Hawker has had a sing- 
ing class of boys and girls weekly at the vicarage. But this 



96 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

duty and the harmonium in church are now undertaken by Mrs. 

T , for a reason that will readily suggest itself to your 

mind. But why should I hesitate to avow to old friends that 
we expect another guest at the vicarage ? How I hope that 
God may grant us a boy, that I may utter the words of the 
fathers of holy time, " My son, my son ! " 

MoRWENSTOW, Jan. 22, 1857. My dear Sir, — It is no 
longer possible to nourish the project which I have all along, 
every week and day, intended to essay, viz., a journey down to 
Flexbury Hall. We have continually talked of it, more than 
once fixed the day, but we have been as singularly prevented as 
if some evil spirit had it at heart to hinder our purpose. And 
these obstacles have very often been occurrences full of pain, 
domestic or personal. You have no doubt heard of the fright- 
ful accident to poor old George Tape, my care-taker and very 
excellent servant. He lived all his early life with old Mr. 
Shearm, here in the old Vicarage House ; was sexton twenty- 
five years; worked with me from 1835 to 1851 ; then visited 
Australia as a gold-digger ; returned about two years agone 
with enough to live on, aided by a little work, and came back to 
be again my hind at Michaelmas last. He was, therefore, a 
long-accustomed face, almost as one of my own family. You 
will, therefore, understand the shock when we heard a man 
rushing up stairs to our little sitting-room with the tale of fear ; 
and on going down, I found poor George seated in a chair, with 
the hand crushed into pulp below the wrist, and dangling by the 
naked sinews. I made a rude tourniquet, in haste, of a silk 
handkerchief and short stick, and so the hemorrhage was 
stopped. We got him home. I was with him nearly all night, 
and the next day till he died ; but the amputation I could not 
witness. We found two fingers and other pieces of flesh 
among the barley afterwards. ... I remain yours, my dear sir, 
very faithfully, 

R. S. Hawker. 
T. Carnsew, Esq. 

The generosity of the vicar to the poor knew no 



GENEROSITY TO THE POOR. 97 

bounds. It was not always discreet : but his compas- 
sionate heart could not listen to a tale of suffering 
unaffected ; nay, more, the very idea that others were 
in want impelled him to seek them out at all times, 
to relieve their need. 

On cold winter nights, if he felt the frost to be 
very keen, the idea would enter his head that such 
and such persons had not above one blanket on their 
beds, or that they had gone, without any thing to 
warm their vitals, to the chill damp attics where they 
slept. Then he would stamp about the house, col- 
lecting warm clothing and blankets, bottles of wine, 
and any food he could find in the larder, and laden 
with them, attended by a servant, go forth on his 
rambles, and knock up the cottagers, that he might 
put extra blankets on their beds, or cheer them with 
port-wine and cold pie. 

The following graphic description of one of these 
night missions is given in the words o^ an old work- 
man named Vinson. 

"It was a very cold night in the winter of 1874-5, about 
half-past nine : he called me into the house, and said, ' The 
poor folk up at Shop will all perish this very night of cold. 
John Ode is ill, and cannot go : can you get there alive ? " 

" ' If you please, sir, I will if you'll allow me," I said. 

" ' Take them these four bottles of brandy,' he says ; and he 
brought up four bottles with never so much as the corks drawed. 
' Now,' says he, ' what will you have yourself ? ' And I says, 
* Gin, if you plase, sir,' I says. And he poured me out gin and 
water ; and then he gi'ed me a lemonade-bottle of gin for me to 
put in my side-pocket. ' That'll keep you alive,' he says, ' be- 
fore you come back.' So he fulled me up before I started, and 
sent me off to Shop, to four old people's houses, with a bottle 
of brandy for each. And then he says, ' There's two shillings 



98 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

for yourself; and you keep pulling at that bottle, and you'll 
keep yourself alive afore you come back.' So I went there, 
and delivered the bottles; and I'd had enough before I started 
to bring me home again, so I didn't uncork my bottle of gin. 

"And it isn't once, it's scores o' times, he's looked out o' 
window, after I've going home at night, and shouted to me, 
' Here, stay ! come back, Vinson,' and he's gone into the larder, 
and cut off great pieces of meat, and sent me with them, and 
p'raps brandy or wine, to some poor soul ; and he always gi'ed 
me a shilling, either then or next day, for myself, besides meat 
and drink." 

"They are crushed down, my poor people," he 
would say with energy, stamping about his room, — 
" ground down with poverty, with a wretched wage, 
the hateful truck system, till they are degraded in 
mind and body." It was a common saying of his, " If 
I eat and drink, and see my poor hunger and thirst, 
I am not a minister of Christ, but a lion that lurketh 
in his den to ravish the poor." 

The monetary value of the living was three hun- 
dred and sixty-five pounds. He wrote up over the 
porch of his vicarage, — 

" A house, a glebe, a pound a day, 
A pleasant place to watch and pray : 
Be true to Church, be kind to poor, 
O minister, for evermore ! " 

Of his overflowing kindness to the shipwrecked, 
mention shall be made in another chapter. The 
many sufferers whom he rescued from the water, 
housed, fed, nursed, and clothed, and sent away with 
liberal gifts, always spoke of his charity with warmth 
and gratitude. In no one instance would he accept 
compensation for the deeds of charity which he per- 



A DISASTROUS EXPEDITION. 99 

formed. He received letters of thanks for his ser- 
vices to the shipwrecked from ship-owners in Norway, 
Denmark, France, Scotland, and Cornwall, who had 
lost vessels on this fatal coast, as well as from the 
consuls of the several nations. 

Like his grandfather, Dr. Hawker, he was ready to 
give away every thing he had ; and he was at times 
in straitened circumstances, owing to the open house 
he kept, and the profusion with which he gave away 
to the necessitous. 

This inconsiderate generosity sometimes did harm 
to those who received it. One instance will suffice. 

The vicar of Morwenstow had, some years ago, a 
servant, whom we will call Stanlake : the man may 
be still alive, and therefore his real name had better 
not be given to the world. 

One day Mr. Hawker ordered his carriage to drive 
to Bideford, some twenty miles distant. The weather 
was raw and cold. He was likely to be absent all 
day, as he was going on to Barnstaple by train to 
consult his doctor. His compassion was roused by 
the thought of Stanlake having forty miles of drive 
in the cold, and a day of lounging about in the raw 
December air ; and just as he stepped into the car- 
riage he produced a bottle of whiskey, and gave it to 
Stanlake. 

Mr. Hawker was himself a most abstemious man : 
he drank only water, and never touched wine, spirits, 
or beer. 

On the way to Bideford, at Hoops, thinking the 
coachman looked blue with cold, the vicar ordered 
him a glass of hot brandy-and-water. When he 



lOO LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

reached Bideford station he said, " Now, Stanlake, I 
shall be back by the half-past four train : mind you 
meet me with the carriage." 

"All right, sir." 

But Mr. Hawker did not arrive by the half-past 
four train. 

Up till that hour Stanlake had kept sober, he had 
not touched his bottle of whiskey ; but finding that 
his master did not arrive, and that time hung heavily 
on his hands, he retired to the stable, uncorked the 
bottle, and drank it off. 

At six o'clock Mr. Hawker arrived at Bideford. 
There was no carriage at the station to meet him. 
He hurried to the inn where he put up, and ordered 
his conveyance. He was told that his man was in- 
capable. 

" Send him to me, send him here," he thundered, 
pacing the coffee-room in great excitement. 

" Please, sir, he is under a heap of straw and hay 
in a loose box in the stable, dead drunk." 

" Make him come." 

After some delay, the information was brought 
him, that, when Mr. Stanlake after great efforts had 
been reared upon his legs, he had fallen over again. 

" Put the horses to. I can drive as well as Stan- 
lake. I will drive home myself ; and do you shove 
that drunken boor head and crop into the carriage." 

The phaeton was brought to the door : the vicar 
mounted the box, the drunken servant was tumbled 
inside, the door shut on him, and off they started for 
a long night drive with no moon in the sky, and frosty 
stars looking down on the wintry earth. 



A DISASTROUS EXPEDITxON. loi 

Half-way between Bideford and Morwenstow, in 
descending a hill the pole-strap broke ; the carriage 
ran forward on the horses' heels ; they plunged, and 
the pole drove into the hedge ; with a jerk one of the 
carriage-springs gave way. 

Mr. Hawker, afraid to get off the box without some 
one being at hand to hold the horses' heads, shouted 
lustily for help. No one came. 

" Stanlake, wake up ! Get out ! " 

A snore from inside was the only answer. Mr. 
Hawker knocked the glasses with his whip-handle, 
and shouted yet louder, "You drunken scoundrel, 
get out and hold the horses ! " 

"We won't go home till morning, till daylight 
doth appear," chanted the tipsy man in bad tune from 
within. 

After some time a laborer, seeing from a distance 
the stationary carriage-lamps, and wondering what 
they were, arrived on the scene. By his assistance 
the carriage was brought sideways to the hill, the 
horses were taken out, a piece of rope procured to 
mend the harness and tie up the broken spring ; and 
Mr. Hawker remounting the box drove forward, and 
reached Morwenstow vicarage about one o'clock at 
night. 

Next morning Stanlake appeared in the library, 
very downcast. 

" Go away," said the vicar in a voice of thunder. 
" I dismiss you forthwith. Here are your wages. I 
will not even look at you. Let me never see your 
face again. You brought me into a pretty predica- 
ment last night." 



I02 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Two days after, he met the man again. In the 
mean time his wrath had abated, and he began to 
think that he had acted harshly with his servant, 
*' Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that 
trespass against us," ran in his head. 

"Stanlake," said he, "you played me a hateful 
trick the other night. I hope you are sorry for it." 

"I'se very sorry, your honor." 

" You think you won't do it again ? " 

" I'se very sure I won't, your honor." 

"Then, Stanlake, I will overlook it. You may 
remain in my service." 

Not many weeks after, the vicar sent Stanlake to 
Boscastle, and, thinking he would be cold, gave hirti 
again a bottle of whiskey. Of course, once more 
the man got drunk. This time the vicar did not 
overlook it, and the man was dismissed. 

Mr. Robert Stephen Hawker was a man of the 
most unbounded hospitality. Every one who visited 
Morwenstow met with a warm welcome : every thing 
his larder and dairy contained was produced in the 
most lavish profusion. The best that his house could 
afford was freely given. On one occasion, when 
about to be visited by a nephew and his wife, he sent 
all the way to Tavistock, about thirty miles, for a leg 
and shoulder of Dartmoor mutton. If he saw friends 
coming along the loop drive which descended to his 
vicarage, he would run to the door, with a sunny 
smile of greeting, and both hands extended in wel- 
come, and draw them in to break his bread and par- 
take of his salt. Sometimes his larder was empty, 
he had fed so many visitors ; and he would say sor- 



HOSPITALITY. 103 

rowfully, " There is nothing but ham and eggs : I 
give thee all, I can no more." And visitors were 
most numerous in summer. In one of his letters he 
speaks of having entertained one hundred and fifty 
in a summer. 

His drawing-room on a summer afternoon was 
often so crowded with visitors from Bude, Clovelly, 
Bideford, Stratton, and elsewhere, come to tea, that 
it was difficult to move in it. 

" Look here, my dear," he would say to a young 
wife, " I will tell you how to make tea. Fill the pot 
with leaves to the top, and pour the water into the 
cracks." His tea was always the best Lapsing 
Souchong from Twining's. 

He was a wretched carver. He talked and 
laughed, and hacked the meat at the same time, 
cutting here, there, and anywhere, in search of the 
tenderest pieces for his guests. 

'* One day that we went over to call on him unex- 
pectedly," says a friend, "he made us stay for lunch. 
He was in the greatest excitement and delight at our 
visit, and in the flurry decanted a bottle of brandy, 
and filled our wineglasses with it, mistaking it for 
sherry. The joint was a fore-quarter of lamb. It 
puzzled him extremely. At last, losing all patience, 
he grasped, the leg-bone with one hand, the shoulder 
with the fork driven up to the hilt through it, and 
tore it by main force asunder." 

Another friend describes a " high tea " at his 
house. A whole covey of partridges was brought 
on table. He drove his fork into the breast of each, 
then severed the legs by cutting through the back, 



I04 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

and so helped each person to the whole breast and 
wings. The birds had not been cooked by an experi- 
enced hand, and properly trussed. The whole covey 
lay on their backs with their legs in the air, present- 
ing the drollest appearance when the cover — large 
enough for a sirloin of beef — was removed from the 
dish. 

" When you steal your own cream, my dear," was 
a saying of his to ladies, "don't take just a spoonful 
on a bit of bread, but clear the whole pan with a 
great ladle and no bread." 

One story about a break-down when driving has 
been told : another incident of the same description 
shall be given in his own words : — 

Nov. 4, 1856. My dear Sir, — When I relate the history of 
our recent transit through Poughill by night, I think you will 
allow that I am not nervous beyond measure when I say that I 
am obliged through fear to deny myself the pleasure of joining 
your hospitable board on Thursday next. Before we had 
crossed Summerleaze one lamp went out ; another languished. 
My clumsy servant John had broken both springs. A lantern, 
which we borrowed at Lake Cottage of a woman called Barrett, 
held aloft by our boy, just enabled us to creep along amid a 
thorough flood of cold rain, until we arrived at Stowe. There 
we succeeded in negotiating a loan of another piece of candle, 
and moved on, a rare and rending headache meanwhile throb- 
bing under my hat. Half-way down Stowe hill, the drag-chain 
broke suddenly, and but for extreme good behavior on the part 
of the horses — shall I add, good driving on mine? — we must 
have gone over in a heap, to the great delight of the Dissenters 
in this district. We did at last arrive home, but it was in a 
very disconsolate condition. Still, good came of our journey ; 
for Mrs. Hawker cannot deny that I drove in a masterly man- 
ner, and therefore is bound to travel anywhere with me by day. 
We mean, with your leave, to come down to you early one 



PECULIAR DRESS. 



loS 



day soon, and depart so as to be at home before dark. Tell 
your son that on Saturday night last, at eight o'clock, tidings 
came in that carriage-lamps flared along our in-road. I found 
at the door " a deputation from the Parent Society," the Rev. 

L. H . Three friends had previously suggested his visit 

here, and all three had been snubbed. But he put into my 
hand a note from Leopold Ackland, so there was no longer 
any resistance. He had travelled far, — Australia, Egypt, the 
Crimea during the Anglican defeat. So his talk amused us. 
With kindest regards to all at Flexbury, I remain, yours, my 
dear sir, very faithfully, 

R. S. Hawker. 

T. Carnsew, Esq, 

Mr. Hawker, as has been already intimated, was 
rather peculiar in his dress. At first, soon after his 
induction to Morwenstow, he wore his cassock ; but 
in time abandoned this inconvenient garb, in which 
he found it impossible to scramble about his cliffs. 
He then adopted a claret-colored coat, with long tails. 
He had the greatest aversion to any thing black : 
the only black things he would wear were his boots. 
These claret-colored coats would button over the 
breast, but were generally worn open, displaying be- 
neath a knitted blue fisherman's jersey. At his side, 
just where the Lord's side was pierced, a little red 
cross was woven into the jersey. He wore fishing- 
boots reaching above his knee. 

The claret-colored cassock coats, when worn out, 
were given to his servant-maids, who wore them as 
morning-dresses when going about their dirty work. 

" See there ! the parson is washing potatoes ! " or, 
" See there ! the parson is feeding the pigs ! " would 
be exclaimed by villagers, as they saw his servant- 
girls engaged on their work, in their master's coats. 



io6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

At first he went about in a college-cap ; but this 
speedily made way for a pink or flesh-colored beaver 
hat, without a brim. When he put on coat, jersey, 
or hat he wore it till it was worn out : he had no 
best suit. 

Once he had to go to Hartland, to the funeral of 
a relative. On the way he had an accident, — his 
carriage upset, and he was thrown out. When he 
arrived at Hartland, his relations condoled with him 
on his upset. " Do, Hawker, let me find you a new 
hat: in your fall you have knocked the brim off 
yours," said one. 

" My dear ," he answered, " priests of the 

Holy Eastern Church wear no brims to their hats ; 
and I wear none, to testify the connection of the 
Cornish Church with the East, before ever Augus- 
tine set foot in Kent." And he attended the funeral 
in his brimless hat. He wore one of these flesh- 
colored hats, bleached white, at the funeral of his 
first wife, in 1863, and could hardly be persuaded to 
allow the narrowest possible band of black crape to 
be pinned round it. 

The pink hats were, however, abandoned, partly 
because they would not keep their color ; and a 
priest's wide-awake, claret-colored like the coat, was 
adopted in its place. 

"My coat," said he, when asked by a lady why 
he wore one of such a cut and color, " my coat is that 
of an Armenian archimandrite." But this he proba- 
bly said only from his love of hoaxing persons who 
asked him impertinent questions. 

When Mr. Hawker went up to London to be mar- 



pecOliar costume. 107 

ried the second time, he lost his hat, which was 
carried away by the wind, as he looked out of the 
window of the train, to become, perhaps, an inmate 
of a provincial museum as a curiosity. He arrived 
hatless in town after dark. He tied a large scarlet 
handkerchief over his head, and thus attired paced 
up and down the street for two hours before his 
lodging, in great excitement at the thought of the 
change in his prospects which , would dawn with 
the morrow. I must leave to the imagination of the 
reader the perplexity of the policeman at the corner 
over the extraordinary figure in claret-colored clerical 
coat, wading-boots up to his hips, blue knitted jersey, 
and red handkerchief bound round his head. His 
gloves were crimson. He wore these in church as 
well as elsewhere. 

In the dark chancel, lighted only dimly through 
the stained east window, hidden behind a close-grated 
screen, the vicar was invisible when performing the 
service, till, having shouted " Thomas," in a voice of 
thunder, two blood-red hands were thrust through 
the screen, with offertory bags, in which alms were 
to be collected by the church-warden who answered 
the familiar call. Or, the first appearance of the 
vicar took place after the Nicene Creed, when a 
crimson hand was seen gliding up the banister of the 
pulpit, to be followed by his body, painfully worming 
its way through an aperture in the screen, measuring 
only sixteen inches ; " the camel getting at length 
through the eye of the needle," as Mr. Hawker called 
the proceeding. 

In church he wore a little black cap over his white 



lo8 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

hair, rendered necessary by the cold and damp of the 
decaying old church. 

At his side he carried a bunch of seals and medals. 
One of his seals bore the fish surrounded by a ser- 
pent biting its tail, and the legend vfdvq. Another 
bore the pentacle, with the name of Jehovah in 
Hebrew characters in the centre. This was Solo- 
mon's seal. " With this seal," he said, " I can com- 
mand the devils." 

His command of the Devil was not always success- 
ful. He built a barn on the most exposed and ele- 
vated point of the glebe ; and when a neighbor 
expostulated with him, and assured hirn that the 
wind would speedily wreck it, " No," he answered : 
" I have placed the sign of the cross on it, and so the 
Devil cannot touch it." 

A few weeks after, a gale from the south-west tore 
the roof off. 

" The Devil," was his explanation, " was so enraged 
at seeing the sign of the cross on my barn, that he 
rent it and wrecked it." 

A man whom he had saved from a wreck, in grati- 
tude sent him afterwards, from the diggings in Cali- 
fornia, a nugget of gold he had found. This Mr, 
Hawker had struck into a medal or seal, and wore 
always at his side, with the bunch. 

Attached to the button-hole of his coat was invaria- 
bly a pencil, suspended by a piece of string. 

He was a well-built man, tall, broad, with a face 
full of manly beauty, a nobly cut profile, dark, full 
eyes, and long, snowy hair. His expression was 
rapidly changing, like the sea as seen from his cliffs ; 



DISLIKE OF RITUALISTS. 109 

now flashing and rippling with smiles, and anon over- 
cast and sad, sometimes stormy. 

Mr. Hawker, some short time after his induction 
into Morwenstow, adopted an alb and cope, which he 
wore throughout his ministrations at matins, litany, 
and communion-service. But he left off wearing the 
cope about ten or twelve years ago, and the reason 
he gave for doing so was his disapproval of the ex- 
travagances of the Ritualist party. He was afraid 
by using this vestment that he would be associated 
with it : and, curiously enough, this was a party 
towards which he entertained the bitterest dislike ; 
he could not speak of it with charity, but involved 
Ritualists and Wesleyans in one common denuncia- 
tion. Till the year before he died he had no personal 
knowledge of their proceedings, and related as facts 
the most ridiculous and preposterous fables concern- 
ing them which had been told him, and which he 
sincerely believed in. 

The ceremonial he employed in his church was 
entirely of his own devising. When he baptized a 
child he raised it in his arms, carried it up the church 
in his waving purple cope, thundering forth, with his 
rich, powerful voice, the words : " We receive this 
child into the congregation of Christ's flock," &c. 
His administration of this sacrament was most 
solemn and impressive ; and I know of parents who 
have gone to Morwenstow for the purpose of having 
their children baptized by him. 

In celebrating marriage he used to take the ring, 
and toss it in the air before restoring it to the bride- 
groom. What was symbolized by this proceeding I 



no LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

have been unable to ascertain, unless it were to point 
out that marriage is always more or less of a toss-up. 

After abandoning the cope for the reasons stated, 
his appearance in girded alb was not a little peculiar. 
The alb, to any one not accustomed to see it, has 
much the look of a nightgown. Over his shoulders 
he wore a stole, of which he was very fond. It was 
copied for him from one found at Durham, which 
had been placed in the shrine of St. Cuthbert, on 
the body. Mr. Hawker bore a special reverence for 
the memory of St. Cuthbert, who, living on his islet 
of Fame, the haunt of sea-mews, taming the wild 
birds, praying, meditating amidst the roar of the 
North Sea, he thought occupied a position not unlike 
his own. The week before he died, Mr. Hawker sent 
to Morwenstow for this stole, and was photographed 
in it. 

" We are much taken with the old church," wrote 
a well-known public man a few years ago to a friend, 
" to say nothing of the vicar thereof, who reminds me 
immensely of Cardinal Wiseman. He is a sight to 
see, as well as a preacher to hear, as he stands in his 
quaint garb and quaint pulpit, and looks as if he be- 
longed to the days of Morwenna Abbatissa herself." 

He was usually followed to church by nine or ten 
cats, which entered the chancel with him, and careered 
about it during service. Whilst saying prayers Mr. 
Hawker would pat his cats, or scratch them under 
their chins. Originally ten cats accompanied him to 
church; but one, having caught, killed, and eaten a 
mouse on a Sunday, was excommunicated, and from 
that day was not allowed again within the sanctuary. 



BIRDS AND FLOWERS. m 

A friend tells me that on attending Morwenstow 
church one Sunday morning, nothing amazed him 
more than to see a little dog sitting upon the altar- 
step behind the celebrant, in the position which, in 
many churches, is occupied by a deacon or a server. 
He afterwards spoke to Mr. Hawker on the subject, 
and asked him why he did not turn the dog out of 
the chancel and church. 

"Turn the dog out of the ark!" he exclaimed: 
"all animals, clean and unclean, should find there a 
refuge." 

His chancel, as has been already said, was strewn 
with wormwood, sweet marjoram, and wild thyme. 

He had a garden which he called his church gar- 
den, below his house, in a spot sheltered by dwarfed 
trees. In this garden he grew such flowers as were 
suitable for church decoration, and were named in 
honor of the Virgin Mary or the saints, such as 
columbine, lilies, Barnaby's thistle, Timothy grass, 
the cowslip (St. Peter's flower). Lady's smock, &c. 

Mr. Hawker's kindness to animals was a conspicu- 
ous feature in his character. The birds of Morwen- 
stow became quite tame, and fluttered round him for 
food. "Ubi aves," he said, "ibi angeli." To the 
north side of the church, above the vicarage, is a 
small grove of trees, oaks and sycamores. There 
were nests in them of magpies : Mr. Hawker thought 
of jackdaws, but these birds do not build nests among 
branches. He was very anxious to get rooks to 
inhabit this grove : to obtain them he went to his 
chancel, and, kneeling before the altar, besought God 
to give him a rookery where he wanted. Having 



112 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

made his prayer, full of faith, he had a ladder put to 
the trees, and he carefully removed the nests to a 
chimney of his house which was rarely used. 

"Jackdaws," said he, "I make you a promise: if 
you will give up these trees to rooks, you shall have 
the chimney of my blue room in scecula sceadorimiy 

The jackdaws took him at his word, and filled the 
chimney with their piles of sticks which serve as 
nests. Somehow rooks were persuaded to settle 
among the tree-tops of his grove, and there the 
colony subsists to the present day. 

Some years ago, when Dr. Phillpotts was Bishop 
of Exeter, a visit of the bishop to Morwenstow had 
been planned and decided upon. Mrs. Hawker in- 
sisted on having the blue room fitted up for his lord- 
ship. A fire would have to be lighted in the grate : 
the chimney would smoke unless cleared of nests. 

Mr. Hawker stood by whilst Mrs. Hawker and the 
maid prepared the blue room. He would not have 
the jackdaws disturbed : he had given them his word 
of honor. Mrs. Hawker argued that necessity knows 
no law : the bishop must have a fire, and the jackdaws 
must make way for the bishop. She prevailed. 

" I wrung my hands, I protested, entreated, and 
foretold evil," was the vicar's account of the affair. 

" Well, and did evil come of it t " 

"Yes : the bishop never arrived, after all." 

Mr. Hawker was warmly attached to the Bishop of 
Exeter, and was accustomed to send him some braces 
of woodcocks every October. 

Not far from the church and vicarage was the well 
of St. John, a spring of exquisitely clear water, which 
he always employed for his font. 



THE WELL OF ST. JOHN. 113 

Sir, J. Buller, afterwards Lord Churston, claimed 
the well, and an expensive lawsuit was the result. 
The vicar carried his right to the well, and Sir J. 
Buller had to pay expenses. Mr. Hawker would tell 
his guests that he was about to produce them a 
bottle of the costliest liquor in the county of Corn- 
wall, and then give them water from the well of St. 
John. The right to this water had cost several 
thousands of pounds. 

A letter dated Feb. 7, 1852, to a young friend 
going up to the university, refers to his cats and 
dogs, and to his annual gift of woodcocks to the 
bishop, and may therefore be quoted at the conclu- 
sion of this chapter. 

" Our roof bends over us unchanged. Berg (his dog) is still 
in our confidence, and well deserves it. The nine soft, furry 
friends of ours are well, and Kit rules them with a steady claw. 
Peggy is well and warm. ... I never knew game so scarce 
since I came to Morwenstow ; except some woodcocks, which 
I sent to the bishop as usual in October and November, we 
have had literally none. 

" And now for one of those waste things, a word of advice. 
You are in what is called by snobs a fast college. I earnestly 
advise you to eschew fast men. I am now suffering from the 
effects of silly and idle outlay in Oxford. I do hope that noth- 
ing will induce you to accept that base credit which those 
cormorants, the Oxford tradesmen, always try to force on 
freshmen, in order to harass and rob them afterwards. No 
fast undergraduate in all my remembrance ever settled down 
into a respectable man. Ask God for strong angels, and he 
will fulfil your prayer. Never forget him, and he will never 
neglect you." 



114 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 



CHAPTER V. 

The Inhabitants of Morwenstow in 1834. — Cruel Coppinger. — Whips the 
Parson of Kilkhampton. — Gives Tom Tape a Ride. — Tristam Pentire. — 
Parminter and his Dog Satan. — The Ganger's Pocket. — Wrecking. — 
The Wrecker and the Ravens. — The Loss of the "Margaret Quail." 
— The Wreck of the " Ben Coolan." — "A Croon on Hennacliff." — Letters 
concerning Wrecks. — The Donkeys and the Copper Ore. — The Ship 
"Morwenna." — Flotsam and Jetsam. — Wrecks on Nov. 14, 1875. — 
Bodies in Poundstock Church. — The Loss of the "Caledonia." — The 
Wreck of the " Phoenix " and of the " Alonzo." 

When the Rev. R. S. Hawker came to Morwen- 
stow in 1834, he found that he had much to contend 
with, not only in the external condition of church 
and vicarage, but also in that whtch is of greater 
importance. 

A writer in the " John Bull " says, " He found a 
manse in ruins, and partly used as a barn ; a parish 
peopled with wreckers, smugglers, and Dissenting 
Bryanites ; and a venerable church, deserted and 
ill cared for, amidst a heap of weeds and nettles. 
Desolate as was the situation of the gray old sanctu- 
ary and tower, standing out upon the rugged incline 
that shelves down a descent of three hundred feet to 
the beach, it was not more barren of external com- 
fort than was the internal state of those who had 
been confided to his pastoral care. 



INHABITANTS OF MORWENSTOW. 115 

"The farmers of the parish were simple-hearted 
and respectable ; but the denizens of the hamlet, 
after receiving the wages of the harvest time, eked 
out a precarious existence in the winter, and watched 
eagerly and expectantly for the shipwrecks that were 
certain to happen, and upon the plunder of which 
they surely calculated for the scant provision of their 
families. The wrecked goods supplied them with 
the necessaries of life, and the rended planks of the 
dismembered vessel contributed to the warmth of 
the hovel hearthstone. 

" When Mr. Hawker came to Morwenstow, ' the 
cruel and covetous natives of the strand, the wreckers 
of the seas and rocks for flotsam and jetsam,' held 
as an axiom and an injunction to be strictly obeyed — 

" Save a stranger from the sea, 
And he'll turn your enemy ! " 

"The Morwenstow wreckers allowed a faintinsr 
brother to perish in the sea before their eyes without 
extending a hand of safety, — nay, more, for the 
egotistical canons of a shipwreck, superstitiously 
obeyed, permitted and absolved the crime of murder 
by 'shoving the drowning man into the sea,' to be 
swallowed by the waves. Cain ! Cain ! where is thy 
brother .■' And the wrecker of Morwenstow answered 
and pleaded in excuse, as in the case of undiluted 
brandy after meals, ' It is Cornish custom.' The 
illicit spirit of Cornish custom was supplied by the 
smuggler, and the gold of the wreck paid him for 
the cursed abomination of drink." 

One of Mr. Hawker's parishioners, Peter Barrow,* 



Il6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

had been, for full forty years, a wrecker, but of a 
much more harmless description : he had been a 
watcher of the coast for such objects as the waves 
might turn up to reward his patience. Another was 
Tristam Pentire,* a hero of contraband adventure, 
and agent for sale of smuggled cargoes in bygone 
times. With a merry twinkle of the eye, and in a 
sharp and ringing tone, he loved to tell such tales of 
wild adventure, and of " derring do," as would make 
the foot of the exciseman falter, and his cheek turn 
pale. 

During the latter years of last century there lived 
in Wellcombe one of Mr. Hawker's parishes, a man 
whose name is still remembered with terror, — Cruel 
Coppinger. There are people still alive who remem- 
ber his wife. 

Local recollections of the man have moulded them- 
selves into the rhyme, — 

" Will you hear of Cruel Coppinger ? 
He came from a foreign land : 
He v/as brought to us by the salt water, 
He was carried away by the wind ! " 

His arrival on the north coast of Cornwall was sig- 
nalized by a terrific hurricane. The storm came up 
Channel from the south-west. A strange vessel of 
foreign rig went on the reefs of Harty Race, and was 
broken to pieces by the waves. The only man who 
came ashore was the skipper. A crowd was gathered 
on the sand, on horseback and on foot, women as well 
as men, drawn together by the tidings of a probable 
wreck. Into their midst rushed the dripping stran- 



CRUEL COPPINGER. I17 

ger, and bounded suddenly upon the crupper of a 
young damsel who had ridden to the beach to see 
the sight. He grasped her bridle, and, shouting in 
some foreign tongue, urged the double-laden animal 
into full speed, and the horse naturally took his home- 
ward way. The damsel was Miss Dinah Hamlyn. 
The stranger descended at her father's door, and 
lifted her off her saddle. He then announced him- 
self as a Dane, named Coppinger. He took his 
place at the family board, and there remained till he 
had secured the affections and hand of Dinah. The 
father died, and Coppinger at once succeeded to the 
management and control of the house, which thence- 
forth became a den and refuge of every lawless char- 
acter along the coast. All kinds of wild uproar and 
reckless revelry appalled the neighborhood day and 
night. It was discovered that an organized band of 
smugglers, wreckers, and poachers made this house 
their rendezvous, and that "Cruel Coppinger " was 
their captain. In those days, and in that far-away 
region, the peaceable inhabitants were unprotected. 
There was not a single resident gentleman of prop- 
erty and weight in the entire district. No revenue 
officer durst exercise vigilance west of the Tamar ; 
and, to put an end to all such surveillance at once, 
the head of a ganger was chopped off by one of Cop- 
pinger's gang, on the gunwale of a boat. 

Strange vessels began to appear at regular inter- 
vals on the coast, and signals were flashed from the 
headlands to lead them into the safest creek or cove. 
Amongst these vessels, one, a full-rigged schooner, 
soon became ominously conspicuous. She was for' 



Il8 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

long the chief terror of the Cornish Channel. Her 
name was "The Black Prince." Once, with Cop- 
pinger on board, she led a revenue-cutter into an 
intricate channel near the Bull Rock, where, from 
knowledge of the bearings, "The Black Prince" 
escaped scathless, while the king's vessel perished 
with all on board. In those times, if any landsman 
became obnoxious to Coppinger's men, he was seized, 
and carried on board "The Black Prince," and obliged 
to save his life by enrolling himself in the crew. In 
1835 an old man, of the age of ninety-seven, related 
to Mr. Hawker that he had been so abducted, and 
after two years' service had been ransomed by his 
friends with a large sum. "And all," said the old 
man very simply, "because I happened to see one man 
kill another, and they thought I would mention it." 

Amid such practices, ill-gotten gold began to flow 
and ebb in the hands of Coppinger, At one time he 
had enough money to purchase a freehold farm bor- 
dering on the sea. When the day of transfer came, 
he and one of his followers appeared before the law- 
yer, and paid the money in dollars, ducats, doubloons, 
and pistols. The man of law demurred, but Cop- 
pinger with an oath bade him take this or none. 
The document bearing Coppinger's name is still 
extant. His signature is traced in stern, bold char- 
acters, and under his autograph is the word " Thuro " 
(thorough) also in his own handwriting. 

Long impunity increased Coppinger's daring. 
There were certain bridle-roads along the fields over 
which he exercised exclusive control. He issued 
orders that no man was to pass over them by night, 



COPPINGER'S TRACKS. II9 

and accordingly from that hour none ever did. They 
were called " Coppinger's Tracks." They all con- 
verged at a headland which had the name of Steeple 
Brink. Here the cliff sheered off, and stood three 
hundred feet of perpendicular height, a precipice of 
smooth rock towards the beach, with an overhanging 
face one hundred feet down from the brow. Under 
this was a cave, only reached by a cable ladder low- 
ered from above, and made fast below on a projecting 
crag. It received the name of " Coppinger's Cave." 
Here sheep were tethered to the rock, and fed on 
stolen hay and corn till slaughtered ; kegs of brandy 
and hollands were piled around ; chests of tea ; and ^ 
iron-bound sea-chests contained the chattels and reve- 
nues of the Coppinger royalty of the sea. 

The terror linked with Coppinger's name through- 
out the coast was so extreme that the people them- 
selves, wild and lawless as they were, submitted to 
his sway as though he had been lord of the soil, and 
they his vassals. Such a household as Coppinger's 
was, of course, far from happy or calm. Although 
when his father-in-law died he had insensibly acquired 
possession of the stock and farm, there remained in 
the hands of the widow a considerable amount of 
money as her dower. This he obtained from the 
helpless woman by instalments, and by this cruel 
means. He fastened his wife to the pillar of her oak 
bedstead, and called her mother into the room. He 
then assured her he would flog Dinah with a cat-o'- 
nine-tails till her mother had transferred to him the 
amount of her reserved property that he demanded. 
This act of brutal cruelty he repeated till he had 
utterly exhausted the widow's store. 



I20 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

The Kilkhampton parson hated rook-pie. Cop- 
pinger knew it. 

He invited him to dine with him one day. A large 
rook-pie was served at one end of the table, and roast 
rooks at the other ; . and the parson, who was very 
hungry, was forced to eat of them. When he de- 
parted, he invited Coppinger to dine with him on the 
following Thursday. The smuggler arrived, and was 
regaled on pie, whether rabbit or hare he could not 
decide. When he came home he found a cat's skin 
and head stuffed into his coat-pocket, and thereby 
discovered what he had been eating. 

He was furious. He had a favorite mare, so in- 
domitable that none but Coppinger could venture on 
her back, and so fleet and strong that he owed his 
escape from more than one menacing peril to her 
speed and endurance. 

Shortly after the dinner off cat-pie, the rector of 
Kilkhampton was walking homeward along a lane, 
when he heard behind him the clattering of horscr 
hoofs ; and Cruel Coppinger bore down on him, seated 
on his mare, whirling his double-thonged whip round 
his head. He lashed the back of the unfortunate 
parson, pursued him, struck and struck again till he 
had striped him like a zebra, and then galloped off 
with the parting scoff, "There, parson, I have paid 
my tithe in full ; never mind the receipt." 

It was on the selfsame animal that Coppinger 
performed another freak. He had passed a festive 
evening at a farmhouse, and was about to take his 
departure, when he spied in the corner of the hearth 
a little old tailor, who went from house to house in 



GIVES TOM TAPE A RIDE. 121 

exercise of his calling. His name was Uncle Tom 
Tape. 

"Ha! Uncle Tom," cried Coppinger : "we both 
travel the same road, and I don't mind giving you a 
hoist behind me on the mare." 

The old man cowered in the settle. He would not 
encumber the gentleman ; was unaccustomed to ride 
such a spirited horse. But Coppinger was not to be 
put off. The trembling old man was mounted on the 
crupper of the capering mare. Off she bounded ; 
and Uncle Tom, with his arms cast with the grip of 
terror round his bulky companion, held on like grim 
death. Unbuckling his belt, Coppinger passed it 
round Uncle Tom's thin body, and buckled it on his 
own front. When he had firmly secured his victim, 
he loosened his reins, and urged the mare into a 
furious gallop. Onwards they rushed, till they fled 
past the tailor's own door, where his startled wife, 
who was on the watch, afterwards declared "she 
caught sight of her husband clinging to a rainbow." 

At last the mare relaxed her pace ; and then Cop- 
pinger, looking over his shoulder, said, " I have been 
under long promise to the Devil that I would bring 
him a tailor to make and mend for him ; and I mean 
to keep my word to-night." 

The agony of terror produced by this announce- 
ment caused such struggles that the belt gave way, 
and the tailor fell among the gorse at the roadside. 
There he was found next morning, in a semi-delirious 
state, muttering, " No, no : I never will. Let him 
mend his breeches with his own drag-chain. I will 
never thread a needle for Coppinger or his friend." 



122 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

One boy was the only fruit of poor Dinah's mar- 
riage with the Dane. He was deaf and dumb, and 
mischievous and ungovernable from his youth. His 
cruelty to animals, birds, and to other children, was 
intense. Any living thing that he could torture 
yielded him delight. With savage gestures and jab- 
bering moans he haunted the rocks along the shore, 
and seemed like some uncouth creature cast up by 
the sea. When he was only six years old, he was 
found one day on the brink of a cliff, bounding with 
joy, and pointing downwards to the beach with con- 
vulsions of delight. There, mangled by the fall, and 
dead, they found the body of a neighbor's child of his 
own age ; and it was believed that little Coppinger 
had wilfully cast him over. It was a saying in the 
district, that, as a judgment on his father's cruelty,, 
his child had been born without a human soul. 

But the end arrived. Money became scarce, and 
more than one armed king's cutter was seen day and 
night hovering off the land. So he " who came with 
the water went with the wind." His disappearance, 
like his arrival, was commemorated by a storm. 

A wrecker, who had gone to watch the shore, saw, 
as the sun went down, a full-rigged vessel standing 
off and on. Coppinger came to the beach, put off in 
a boat to the vessel, and jumped on board. She 
spread canvas, ^tood off shore, and, with Coppinger 
in her, was seen no more. That night was one of 
storm. Whether the vessel rode it out, or was lost, 
none* knew. ^ 

1 Footprints of Fonner Men. I liave followed Mr. Hawker's tale closely, 
except in one point, where I have told the story as related to me in the 
neighborhood differently from the way in wliich he has told it. 



TRISTAM P ENTIRE. 1 23 

Tristam Pentire * has already been mentioned. 
He was the last of the smugglers, and became Mr. 
Hawker's servant-of-all-work. The vicar had many 
good stories to relate of his man. 

"There have been divers parsons in this parish 
since I have been here," said Tristam, " some strict, 
and some not ; and there was one that had very mean 
notions about running goods, and said it was wrong 
to do so. But even he never took no part with the 
gauger, — never. And besides," said old Trim, 
"wasn't the exciseman always ready to put us to 
death if he could .-' " 

One day he asked Mr. Hawker, " Can you tell me 
the reason, sir, that no grass will ever grow on the 
grave of a man that's hanged unjustly .-' " 

" No, indeed, Tristam : I never heard of the fact 
before." 

" That grave on the right hand of the path as you 
go down to the porch has not one blade of grass on 
it, and never will. That's Will Pooly's grave, that 
was hanged unjustly." 

" Indeed ! How came that about .-• " • 

" Why, you see, they got poor Will down to Bod- 
min, all among strangers ; and there was bribery and 
false swearing ; and so they agreed together, and 
hanged poor Will. But his friends begged the body, 
and brought the corpse home here to his own parish ; 
and they turfed the grave, and they sowed the grass 
twenty times over ; but 'twas all of no use, nothing 
would grow — he was hanged unjustly." 

" Well, but, Tristam, what was he accused of ? 
What had Will Pooly done ? " 



124 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER, 

" Done, your honor ? Done ? Oh ! nothing at all, 
except kill an exciseman." 

Among the " king's men " whose achievements 
haunted the old man's memory with a sense of min- 
gled terror and dislike, a certain Parminter and his 
dog occupied a principal place. 

" Sir," said old Tristam one day to the vicar, " that 
villain Parminter and his dog murdered with their 
shetting-irons no less than seven of our people at 
divers times, and they peacefully at work at their 
calling all the while." 

Parminter was a bold officer, whom no threats could 
deter, and no money bribe. He always went armed 
to the teeth, and was followed by a large fierce dog, 
which he called Satan. This animal he had trained 
to carry in his mouth a carbine or a loaded club, 
which, at a signal from his master, Satan brought to 
the rescue. 

" Ay, they was audacious rascals — that Parminter 
and his dog ; but he went rather too far one day, as 
I reckon," said old Tristam, as he leaned on his spade 
talking to the-vicar. 

" Did he. Trim .-• in what way .'' " 

" Why, your honor, the case was this. Our people 
had a landing down at Melhuach, in Johnnie Mathey's 
hole ; and Parminter and his dog found it out. So 
they got into the cave at ebb tide, and laid in wait ; 
and when the first boat-load came ashore, just as the 
keel took the ground, down storms Parminter, shout- 
ing for Satan to follow. But the dog knew better, 
and held back, they said, for the first time in all his 
life : so in leaps Parminter smack into the boat, 



THE G AUGER'S POCKET. 125 

alone, with his cutlass drawn, but" — with a kind of 
inward ecstasy — " he didn't do much harm to the 
boat's crew." 

" Why not ? " 

" Because, your honor, they chopped off his head 
on the gvmwale." 

Near Tonacombe Cross is a stone, perhaps Druidi- 
cal, and called the Witan-stone. To that Tristam 
one day guided his master, the vicar. 

"And now, your honor," he said, "let me show 
you the wonderfullest thing in all the place, and that 
is the Gauger's Pocket." He then showed him, at 
the back of the Witan-rock, a dry secret hole, about 
an arm's-length deep, closed by a moss-grown stone, 
"There, your honor," said he, with a joyous twinkle 
in his eye, " there have I dropped a little bag of gold, 
many and many a time, when our people wanted to 
have the shore quiet, and to keep the exciseman out 
of the way of trouble ; and then he would go, if he 
were a reasonable officer ; and the byword used to 
be, when 'twas all right, one of us would meet him, 
and say, ' Sir, your pocket is unbuttoned ; ' and he 
would smile, and answer, * Ay, ay ! but never mind, 
my man, my money's safe enough.' And thereby we 
knew that he was a just man, and satisfied, and that 
the boats could take the roller in peace ; and that 
was the very way it came to pass that this crack in 
the stone was called evermore the Gauger's Pocket." 

In former times, when a ship was being driven on 
the rocks on Sunday, whilst divine service was going 
on, news was sent to the parson, who announced the 
fact from the pulpit, or reading-desk, whereupon 



126 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

ensued a rapid clearance of the church. The story 
is told of a parson at the Poughill, near Morwenstow, 
who, on hearing the news, proceeded down the church 
in his surplice as far as the font ; and the people, 
supposing there was to be a christening, did not stir. 
But when he was near the door he shouted, "My 
Christian brethren, there's a ship wrecked in the 
cove: let us all start fair!" and, flinging off his sur- 
plice, let the way to the scene of spoliation. 

" I do not see why it is," said a Cornish clerk one 
day, " why there be prayers in the Buke o' Common 
Prayer for rain and for fine weather, and thanks- 
givings for them and for peace, and there's no prayer 
for wrecks, and thanksgiving for a really gude one 
when it is come." 

Mr. Hawker relates a good story in his "Foot- 
prints," which was told him by an old man in his 
parish named Tony Cleverdon. 

"There was once a noted old wrecker, named 
Kinsman : he lived in my father's time ; and when 
no wreck was onward he would get his wages by 
raising stone in a quarry by the seashore. Well, he 
was to work one day over yonder, half way down the 
Tower-cliff, when all at once he saw two old ravens 
flying round and round very near his head. They 
dropped, down into the quarry two pieces of wreck- 
candle just at the old man's feet." (Very often 
wreckers pick up Neapolitan wax candles from ves- 
sels in the Mediterranean trade that have been lost 
in the Channel.) " So when Kinsman saw the can- 
dles, he thought in his mind, * There is surely wreck 
coming in upon the beach ; ' so he packed his tools 



WRECKING. 127 

together, and left them just where he stood, and 
went his way wrecking. He could find no jetsam, 
however, though he searched far and wide. Next day 
he went back to quarry to his work. And he used 
to say it was as true as a proverb, — there the tools 
were all buried deep out of sight, for the crag had 
given way ; and if he had tarried an hour longer he 
must have been crushed to death. So you see, sir, 
what knowledge those ravens must have had ; how 
well they knew the old man, and how dearly fond he 
was of wreck ; how crafty they were to hit upon the 
only plan that would ever have slocked him away." 

Wrecks are terribly frequent on this coast. Not a 
winter passes without several. There are men living 
who can remember eighty. 

If wrecking is no longer practised, the wrecking 
spirit can hardly be said to be extinct, as the follow- 
ing facts will testify : — 

In 1845 a ship came ashore in Melhuach Bay, 
between Morwenstow and Bude. The surge burst 
against the cliffs, and it was impossible to launch 
a lifeboat ; but a rocket was fired over the vessel, and 
so successfully that the hawser was secured to the 
ship. Every life would, in all probability, have been 
saved, had not some wretches cut through the rope, 
more greedy for prey than careful to save life. Of all 
the crew the only person saved was the captain. He 
confirmed the opinion of the coast-guard, that, but 
for the cutting through of the hawser, every one on 
board would have been rescued. 

In 1864 a large ship was seen in distress off the 
coast. The Rev. A. Thynne, rector of Kilkhampton, 



128 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

at once drove to Morwenstow. The vessel was riding 
at anchor a mile off shore, west of Hartland Race. 
He found Mr. Hawker in the greatest excitement, 
pacing his room, and shouting for some things he 
wanted to put in his greatcoat-pockets, and intensely 
impatient because his carriage was not round. With 
him was the Rev. W. Valentine, rector of Whixley 
in Yorkshire, then resident at Chapel, in the parish 
of Morwenstow. 

" What are you going to do ? " asked the rector of 
Kilkhampton : "I shall drive at once to Bude for the 
lifeboat." 

" No good ! " thundered the vicar, " no good comes 
out of the west. You must go east. I shall go to 
Clovelly, and then, if that fails, to Appledore. I 
shall not stop till I have got a lifeboat to take those 
poor fellows off the wreck." 

" Then," said the rector of Kilkhampton, " I shall 
go to Bude, and see to the lifeboat there being brought 
out." 

" Do as you like ; but mark my words, no good 
comes of turning to the west. Why," said he, "in 
the primitive church they turned to the west to re- 
nounce the Devil." 

His carriage came to the door, and he drove off 
with Mr. Valentine, as fast ae his horses could spin 
him along the hilly, wretched roads. 

Before he reached Clovelly, a boat had put off 
with the mate from the ship, which was the " Mar- 
garet Quail," laden with salt. The captain would 
not leave the vessel ; for, till deserted by him, no 
salvage could be claimed. The mate was picked up 
on the way, and the three reached Clovelly. 



THE ''MARGARET QUAILS 129 

Down the street proceeded the following proces- 
sion — the street of Clovelly being a flight of steps : — 

First, the vicar of Mowenstow in a claret-colored 
coat, with long tails flying in the gale, blue knitted 
jersey, and pilot-boots, his long silver locks fluttering 
about his head. He was appealing to the fishermen 
and sailors of Clovelly, to put out in their lifeboat, 
to rescue the crew of the " Margaret Quail." The 
men stood sulky, lounging about with folded arms, 
or hands in their pockets, and sou '-westers slouched 
over their brows. The women were screaming at 
the tops of their voices, that they would not have 
their husbands and sons and sweethearts enticed 
away to risk their lives to save wrecked men. Above 
the clamor of their shrill tongues, and the sough of 
the wind, rose the roar of the vicar's voice : he was 
convulsed with indignation, and poured forth the 
most sacred appeals to their compassion for drowning 
sailors. 

Second in the procession moved the Rev. W. Val- 
entine, with purse full of gold in his hand, offering 
any amount of money to the Clovelly men, if they 
would only go forth in the lifeboat to the wreck. 

Third came the mate of the " Margaret Quail," 
restrained by no consideration of cloth, swearing and 
damning right and left, in a towering rage at the 
cowardice of the Clovelly men. 

Fourth came John, the servant of Mr. Hawker, 
with bottles of whiskey under his arm, another in- 
ducement to the men to relent, and be merciful to 
their imperilled brethren. 

The first appeal was to their love of heaven, and 



130 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

to their humanity ; the second was to their pockets, 
their love of gold ; the third to their terrors, their 
fear of Satan, to whom they were consigned ; and 
the fourth to their stomachs, their love of grog. 

But all appeals were in vain. Then Mr. Hawker 
returned to his carriage, and drove away, farther 
east, to Appledore, where he secured the lifeboat. 
It was mounted on a wagon. Ten horses were har- 
nessed to it ; and, as fast as possible, it was conveyed 
to the scene of distress. 

But, in the mean while, the captain of the " Mar- 
garet Quail," despairing of help, and thinking that 
his vessel would break up under him, came off in his 
boat, with the rest of the crew, trusting rather to a 
rotten boat, patched with canvas which they had 
tarred over, than to the tender mercies of the covet- 
ous Clovellites, in whose veins ran the too recent 
blood of wreckers. The only living being left on 
board was a poor dog. 

No sooner was the captain seen to leave the ship, 
than the Clovelly men lost their repugnance to go 
to sea. They manned boats at once, gained the 
"Margaret Quail," and claimed three thousand 
pounds for salvage. 

There was an action in court, as the owners re- 
fused to pay such a sum ; and it was lost by the 
Clovelly men, who, however, got an award of twelve 
hundred pounds. The case turned somewhat on the 
presence of the dog on the wreck ; and it was argued 
that the vessel was not deserted, because a dog had 
been left on board, to keep guard for its masters. 
The owner of the cargo failed; and the amount 



THE "BEN COOLAN." 131 

actually paid to the salvors was six hundred pounds 
to two steam-tugs (three hundred pounds each), and 
three hundred pounds to the Clovelly skiff and six- 
teen men. The ship and cargo, minus masts, rig- 
ging, cables, and anchors, were valued at five thou- 
sand pounds. 

Mr. Hawker went round the country indignantly 
denouncing the sailors of Clovelly, and with justice. 
It roused all the righteous wrath in his breast. And, 
as may well be believed, no love was borne him by 
the inhabitants of that little fishing village. They 
would probably have made a wreck of him, had he 
ventured among them. 

Another incident, at Bude, called forth a second 
burst of indignation, but this time not so justly. 

A fine vessel, the "Ben Coolan," laden with gov- 
ernment stores for India, ran ashore on the sand, 
outside Bude Haven. The lifeboat was got out ; but 
the sea was terrible, and there was no practised crew 
to man her. Crowds were on the pier, hooting the 
boatmen, and calling them cowards, because they 
would not put to sea, and save those on the vessel ; 
but an old Oxford eight man, who was present, 
assures me that the crew were not up to facing 
such a sea : they were gardeners, land-laborers, canal- 
men, not one among them who, when he rowed, did 
not look over his shoulder to see where he was 
going. The crew shirked going out in the tremen- 
dous sea that was bowling in ; and the vessel broke 
up under the eyes of those who stood on the pier 
and cliffs. The first rocket that was fired fell short. 
The second went beyond the bows. The third went 



132 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

over the ship. The mate was seen to run forward to 
catch the rope, when a wave burst against the side, 
and spun him up in the foam, and he was seen no 
more. The ship turned broadside to the waves, 
which tore her to pieces with great rapidity. Only 
a few of the crew were saved. The captain was 
drowned. 

Mr. Hawker wrote shortly afterwards : — 

A CROON ON HENNACLIFF. 

Thus said the rushing raven 

Unto his hungry mate : 
" Ho, gossip ! for Bude Haven ! 

There be corpses six or eight. 
Cawk, cawk ! the crew and skipper 

Are wallowing in the sea, 
So there's a savory supper 

For my old dame and me ! " 

" Cawk ! gaffer ! thou art dreaming : 

The shore hath wreckers bold, 
Would rend the yelling seamen 

From the clutching billows' hold ! 
Cawk, cawk ! they'd bound for booty 

Into the dragon's den. 
And shout, ' For death or duty ! ' 

If the prey were drowning men." 

Loud laughed the listening surges 

At the guess our grandam gave : 
You might call them Boanerges 

From the thunder of their wave ! 
And mockery followed after 

The sea-bird's jeering brood. 
That filled the skies with laughter 

From Lundy Light to Bude. 



"A CROON ON hennacliff:'' 133 

" Cawk, cawk ! " then said the raven : 

" I am fourscore years and ten, 
Yet never in Bude Haven 

Did I croak for rescued men. 
They will save the captain's girdle, 

And shirt,' if shirt there be, 
But leave their blood to curdle 

For my old dame and me." 

So said the rushing raven 

Unto his hungry mate : 
^ " Ho, gossip ! for Bude Haven ! 

There be corpses six or eight. 
Cawk, cawk ! the crew and skipper 

Are wallowing in the sea : 
Oh what a dainty supper 

For my old dame and me ! " 

A gentleman who was a witness of this wreck tells 
me : " We saw the carpenter swimming ashore. He 
was a magnificent man, largely built, with sinews and 
muscles of great strength. He swam boldly and des- 
perately, but badly, as he kept his breast above the 
water, so that he must have been much beaten and 
bruised by the waves. We saw how his strength 
gradually gave way, and then he seemed to rally, and 
make another despairing effort. We succeeded in 
getting hold of him at last, and brought him ashore. 
Unfortunately there was no doctor by, or any one 
who was experienced in dealing with cases of drown- 
ing. We did as best we knew, following the old 
usage of throwing him across a barrel. Now I know 
that it was the worse treatment possible. Had a 
medical man been at hand, it is my conviction that 

1 A fact : the shirt was secured. 



134 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

the poor fellow would have been saved. His blood 
was not curdled when we got him ashore, and I saw 
it settle into his breast afterwards. It is an unpleas- 
ant thought, that a life was sacrificed for want of 
knowledge." 

Those of the crew who were saved proved to be a 
sad set of fellows. They got so drunk, that they 
could not attend the burial of their comrades. 

MoRWENSTOW, Sept. 1 8, 1869. My dear Mr. Martyn, — I 
will not say, forgive me for my silence. You must do that ; but 
how can I state my miseries ? First of all, for a fortnight I 
have been a cripple from sciatica, only able to creep bent double 
from room to room.' On Sunday night a hurricane smote my 
house at midnight, burst in the whole of our bedroom window 
at a blow, and drove us out of bed to dress and go down. Two 
lights of the drawing-room window were also blown in, one 
broken to smash. No man or boy in the house. Well, we had 
a bed made up in the servants' room till the morning. At dawn 
tidings came that a large vessel was ashore in Vicarage Bay, 
just under the hut. I was put into the gig, and carried out. 
Found the crew in death-horrors. Rocket-apparatus arrived, 
and fifteen men were dragged ashore alive. The other seven 
(blacks) were drowned among my rocks. Guess my state. The 
whole glebe alive with people. Seven corpses came ashore for 
burial one by one. Graves already dug, and shrouds prepared ; 
but more yet. The cargo, coals, sixteen hundred tons, vessel 
nineteen hundred tons, largest ever seen here. Broken up to- 
night. My path down is now made for donkeys. What can be 
saved is to be brought up and sold, as well as the broken ship. 
Cannot you get help for one Sunday, and come over? It would 
be the act of an angel to come to my rescue. You have your 
house, and you could do much that I ought to do and cannot. 
Come, I entreat you. God bless you, and help me ; for I am 

1 The handwriting of this letter is very shaky, and different from the usual 
bold writing of the vicar. 



WRECKS. 135 

indeed in much anguish, and my poor Pauline worn out. Love 
to all. 

Yours faithfully, R. S. H. 

MoRWENSTOW, Oct. 9, 1869. My dear Mr. Martyn, — I 
have devoted to you my first interval of freedom from pains and 
crushing worry. Let no man hereafter ever accuse me of 
shrinking from duty. I was assisted up to the churchyard by 
Cann to bury the last sailor, in such an anguish from sciatic 
pains, that I had faintness on me all the time ; and on returning 
from the grave my leg gave way under me, and I fell. However, 
I have done it so far single-handed, and I am thankful. . . . 
Yours faithfully, 

R. S. Hawker. 

Not long after, a Spanish vessel came ashore a 
little lower down the coast. There were on her a 
number of Lascars. When the coast-guard officer 
went on board, the Lascars, supposing him to be a 
wrecker, drew their knives on him. He had the 
presence of mind to show them his buttons with the 
crown stamped on them, and so to satisfy them that 
he was a government officer. The crew were much 
bruised and injured. They were taken into Stowe 
and other farmhouses in the neighborhood, and 
kindly nursed till well. The captain was a gallant 
little Spanish don. 

The rector of Kilkhampton, who diligently visited 
the sailors, urged on the captain, when all were well, 
the advisability of the crew coming to church to re- 
turn thanks for their rescue. He hesitated, saying 
he was a Catholic : but the rector urged that all wor- 
shipped the same God, and had the same Saviour ; 
and, after having revolved the matter in his own 
mind, he agreed. 



136 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Accordingly the whole crew with the captain came 
to Kilkhampton church, a beautiful restored building, 
filled with old carved seats, rich modern stained glass, 
and where the service is choral, and rendered with 
great beauty and reverence. 

The Spaniards and Lascars behaved with the ut- 
most devotion and recollection. After service they 
adjourned to Penstowe, where they were hospitably 
entertained with a dinner. The captain and the mate 
dined with the family, the sailors in the hall. The 
captain took in the lady of the house. On the other 
side of him at table, sat one of the farmers who had 
received the shipwrecked mariners into his house. 
The Spaniard helped the lady to wine, half filling her 
glass ; but was nudged by the farmer, who bade him 
give her a brimmer. The little captain turned round, 
and looked him in the face with an astonished stare, 
which said plainly enough, " Do you, a Cornish 
clown, think to teach manners to a Spanish don .'' " 
The burly Cornish farmer withered at the glance. 

In 1853 a vessel laden with copper-ore was 
wrecked in the bay below Morwenstow church. The 
ore was recovered, and carried up the cliff on the 
backs of donkeys ; but it was a tedious process, and 
occupied two or three months. Mr. Hawker was 
touched with the sufferings of the poor brutes, zig- 
zagging up a precipice, heavily laden with ore ; and, 
during all the time, had water drawn for them, and 
a feed of corn apiece, to recruit their exhausted 
strength as they reached the top of the cliff. His 
compassion for the donkeys made a profound impres- 
sion on the people, and is one of their favorite stories 



THE SHIP "MORWENNA." 137 

about him when they want to tell of the goodness of 
his kind heart. 

During these two or three months, the agent for 
the firm which owned the vessel lived in the vicarage, 
and was entertained royally. When every thing had 
been recovered, and he was about to depart, he 
thanked the vicar for his great kindness, and begged 
to know, on the part of the firm, if there was any 
thing he could do, or give him, which would be ac- 
ceptable as some recognition for his kindness. 

"No," answered the vicar; "nothing. If paid by 
you, God will not repay me." 

The agent again, and in more forcible terms, 
assured him that the firm would not be happy unless 
they could make him some acknowledgment for his 
services and hospitality, out of the common way, 

"Then I will ask one thing," he said: "give the 
captain another ship." 

The agent hesitated, and then said that what he 
asked was an impossibility. The- firm had no other 
ships which were not then provided with captains. 
They could not, in justice, displace one of them, to 
install in his room the captain of the wrecked ship. 

" Never mind," said Mr. Hawker : " this is the 
only thing I have asked of you, and this is refused 
me." 

A few days after, the agent came to hkn to inform 
him that the firm purposed laying the keel of a new 
vessel, and that the captain for whom he pleaded 
should be appointed to her. 

The ship was built, and was baptized "Morwenna." 
She now sails to and fro along this coast, and, when- 



138 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

ever she passes Morwenstow, runs up a flag, as a 
mark of deference to the spot whence she derives 
her name. 

The flotsam and jetsam of a wreck are the property 
of the Crown. The coast-guard are on the qui-vive 
after a storm, and there is no chance now for village 
■v^reckers. They may carry off small articles, which 
they can put in their pockets ; but so many have 
been had up of late years before the magistrates, and 
fined, that the officers of government have it nearly 
all to themselves. When, however, a keg of brandy 
is washed ashore, the villagers go down to the beach 
with bottles, break in the head of the cask, and fill 
their bottles. Should a coast-guard officer appear, 
the keg is kicked over, and they make off with their 
liquor. The bottles are sometimes kept in a cave, or 
hidden in the sand, and removed at night. The 
coast-guardsmen may suspect that the head of the 
cask was stove in purposely, but cannot prove it. 
When the shore is strewn with articles, an auction 
is held on the spot. The farmers are the principal 
buyers, and they get the goods very cheap. They 
have their donkeys at hand, to remove up the cliffs 
what they have purchased. The expense of transport 
prevents others at a distance from entering into com- 
petition with them. 

After all has been sold, portions of the beach are 
let by auction for a week or fortnight ; and those 
who take the beach are entitled to claim, as their 
own, whatever is thrown up by the sea during their 
tenure. A wreck does not come ashore at once, but 
by instalments ; nor always at one place, but all 
along the coast. 



WRECKS ON NOV. 1 4, 1875. 139 

Should there not be sufficient articles found by the 
coast-guard to make it worth their while to call in an 
auctioneer, they hold an auction of their own ; but, 
not being licensed, they cannot run the price of the 
article up, they therefore run them down. For in- 
stance, a piece of wood comes ashore, worth, may be, 
half a crown. The coast-guard offers it for ten shil- 
lings ; and so, if no one will give that for it, it is 
offered for nine, then eight, and so on, after the man- 
ner of a cheap-jack. 

I had got as far as this in my memoir on Saturday 
night, Nov. 13. On the following morning I went to 
Morwenstow, to take duty in the church. The wind 
was blowing a hurricane from the south-west. I had 
to hold on to the grave-stones, to drag myself through 
the churchyard in the teeth of the storm, to the 
church porch. 

There were few present that morning. No woman 
could have faced the wind. The roar of the ocean, 
the howling of the blast, the clatter of the glass in 
the windows, united, formed such a volume of sound 
that I had to shout my loudest, to be heard when 
reading the service. 

When morning prayer was over, I went into the 
porch, A few men were there, holding their hats on 
their heads, and preparing for a battle with the wind, 

" Not many at church this morning," I said. " No, 
your honor," was the answer: "the wind would blow 
the women away ; and the men are most of 'em on 
the cliffs, looking out if there be wrecks." 

Two vessels were caught sight of between the 
scuds of rain, now on the top of a billow, now lost in 
the trough of the waves. 



I40 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

They had been driven within the fatal Hne between 
Hartland Head and Padstowe Point. 

" Is there no chance for them ? " 

"None at all." 

That evening we sang in church the hymn for 
those at sea, in "Ancient and Modern." Whilst it 
was being sung, one vessel foundered ; but the crew, 
six Frenchmen, came ashore in a boat. An hour or 
two earlier the other went down, with all hands on 
board. 

On Monday and Tuesday bits of the wreck came 
up in the coves, with " Wilhelmina " on them, but 
no bodies. 

After a storm the corpses are fearfully mangled 
on the sharp rocks, and are cut to pieces by the slate 
as by knives, and bits of flesh come ashore. These 
are locally called "gobbets;" and Mr. Hawker, after 
a wreck, used to send a man with a basket along 
the beaches of the coves in his parish, collecting 
these "gobbets," which he interred in his churchyard, 
on top of the cliffs. 

In 1845, after a wreck, nine corpses were taken 
into Poundstock church. The incumbent was wont 
to have daily service. The nine corpses lay along in 
the aisle that morning. It was the twenty-second 
day of the month, and he read the Psalm cvii. : — 

" They that go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their 
business in great waters ; these men see the works of the Lord, 
and his wonders in the deep. For at his word the stormy wind 
ariseth, which hfteth up the waves thereof. They are carried 
up to the heaven, and down again to the deep ; their soul 
melteth away because of the trouble. They reel to and fro, 



THE WRECK OF THE " CALEDONIAN 141 

and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits' end. So 
when they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, he delivereth 
them out of their distress. For he maketh the storm to cease, 
so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad, be- 
cause they are at rest; and so he bringeih them unto the 
haven where they would be." 

This psalm coming in its proper order seemed 
strangely appropriate, read with those dead mariners 
for a congregation. 

The narrative of the wreck of the " Caledonia " in 
1843 must not be told by any other than Mr. 
Hawker himself. The following is extracted from 
his " Remembrances of a Cornish Vicar," ^ slightly 
shortened. 

" At daybreak of an autumn day I was aroused by a knock 
at my bedroom door : it was followed by the agitated voice of a 
boy, a member of my household, 'O sir, there are dead men 
on Vicarage Rocks ! ' 

"In a moment I was up, and in my cassock and slippers 
rushed out. There stood my lad, weeping bitterly, and holding 
out to me in his trembling hands a tortoise alive. I found 
afterwards that he had grasped it on the beach, and brought it 
in his hand as a strange and marvellous arrival from the waves, 
but in utter ignorance of what it might be. I ran across my 
glebe, a quarter of a mile, to the cliffs, and down a frightful 
descent of three hundred feet to the beach. It was indeed a 
scene to be looked on only once in a human life. On a ridge 
of rock, just left bare by the falling tide, stood a man, my own 
servant : he had come out to see my flock of ewes, and had 
found the awful wreck. There he stood, with two dead sailors 
at his feet, whom he had just drawn out of the water, stiff and 
stark. The bay was tossing and seething with a tangled mass 
of rigging and broken fragments of a ship ; the billows rolled 
up yellow with corn, for the cargo of the vessel had been 

1 Footprints of Former Men in Far Cornwall, pp. 182-221. 



142 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

foreign wheat ; and ever and anon there came up out of the 
water, as though stretched out with life, a human hand and 
arm. It was the corpse of another sailor drifting out to sea. 
' Is there no one alive ? " was my first question to my man. ' I 
think there is, sir,' he said, 'for just now I thought I heard a 
cry.' I made haste in the direction he pointed out; and on 
turning a rock, just where a brook of fresh water fell to the 
sea, there lay the body of a man in a seaman's garb. He had 
reached the water faint with thirst, but was too much exhausted 
to swallow or drink. He opened his eyes at our voices ; and, as 
he saw me leaning over him in my cassock, he sobbed with a 
piteous cry, ' Oh, mon pere, mon pere ! ' Gradually he revived ; 
and when he had fully come to himself with the help of cordials 
and food, we gathered from him the mournful tale of his ves- 
sel and her wreck. He was a Jersey man by birth, and had 
been shipped at Malta, on the homeward voyage of the vessel 
from the port of Odessa with corn." 

Mr. Hawker wrote this account for a periodical, 
without giving the name of the place, or signing the 
article. He goes on to relate how he took Le Daine 
into his house. There is reason to believe that he 
allowed himself a poetic license with the facts. Le 
Daine was found by another gentleman, and taken by 
him into his father's house in Morwenstow parish, 
where he was carefully and kindly nursed till his re- 
covery. Mr. Hawker continues his narrative thus : — 

" I returned to the scene of death and danger, where my 
man awaited me. He had found, in addition to the two corpses, 
another dead body, jammed under a rock. By this time a 
crowd of people had arrived from the land, and at my request 
they began to search anxiously for the dead. It was indeed 
a terrible scene. The vessel, a brig of five hundred tons, had 
struck, as we afterwards found, at three o'clock that morning ; 
and, by the time the wreck was discovered, she had been shat- 
tered into broken pieces by the fury of the sea. The rocks and 



THE WRECK OF THE ''CALEDONIA." 143 

water bristled with fragments of mast and spar and rent tim- 
bers ; the cordage lay about in tangled masses. The rollers 
tumbled in volumes of corn, the wheaten cargo ; and amidst it 
all the bodies of the helpless dead — that a few brief hours be- 
fore had walked the deck, the stalwart masters of their ship 
— turned their disfigured faces toward the sky, pleading for 
sepulture. We made a temporary bier of the broken planks, 
and laid thereon the corpses, decently arranged. As the vicar, 
I led the way, and my people followed with ready zeal as 
bearers ; and in sad procession we carried our dead up the 
steep cliff, by a difficult path, to await, in a room at my vicar- 
age which I allotted them, the inquest. The ship and her 
cargo were, as to any tangible value, utterly lost. 

" The people of the shore, after having done their best to 
search for survivors and to discover the lost bodies, gathered 
up fragments of the wreck for fuel, and shouldered them away ; 
not perhaps a lawful spoil, but a venal transgression when com- 
pared with the remembered cruelties of Cornish wreckers. 
Then ensued my interview with the rescued man. His name 
was Le Daine. I found him refreshed, collected, and grateful. 
He told me his tale of the sea. The captain and all the crew 
but himself were from Arbroath in Scotland. To that harbor 
also the vessel belonged. She had been away on a two-years' 
voyage, employed in the Mediterranean trade. She had loaded 
last at Odessa. She touched at Malta; and there Le Daine, 
who had been sick in the hospital, but recovered, had joined 
her. There, also, the captain had engaged a Portuguese cook ; 
and to this man, as one link in a chain of causes, the loss of 
the vessel might be ascribed. He had been wounded in a 
street quarrel the night before the vessel sailed from Malta, 
and lay disabled and useless in his cabin throughout the home- 
ward voyage. At Falmouth, whither they were bound for 
orders, the cook died. The captain and all the crew, except 
the cabin-boy, went ashore to attend the funeral. During their 
absence the boy, handling in his curiosity the barometer, had 
broken the tube, and the whole of the quicksilver had run out. 
Had this instrument, the pulse of the storm, been preserved, 
the crew would have received warning of the sudden and unex- 



144 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

pected hurricane, and might have stood out to sea ; whereas 
they were caught in the chops of the Channel, and thus, by this 
small incident, the vessel and the mariners found their fate oa 
the rocks of a remote headland in my lonely parish. I caused 
Le Daine to relate in detail the closing events. 

" ' We received orders,' he said, ' at Falmouth to make for 
Gloucester to discharge. The captain and mate, and another 
of the crew, were to be married on their return to their native 
town. They wrote, therefore, to Arbroath from Falmouth, to 
announce their safe arrival from their two-years' voyage, their 
intended course to Gloucester, and their hope in about a week 
to arrive at Arbroath for welcome there.' 

" But in a day or two after this joyful letter, there arrived in 
Arbroath a leaf torn out of my pocket-book, and addressed ' To 
the Owners of the Vessel, the " Caledonia " of Arbroath,' with 
the brief and thrilling tidings, written by myself in pencil, 
among the fragments of their wrecked vessel, that the whole 
crew, except one man, were lost ' upon my rocks.' My note 
spread a general dismay in Arbroath ; for the crew, from the 
clannish relationship among the Scotch, were connected with a 
large number of the inhabitants. But to return to the touching 
details of Le Daine. 

" ' We rounded the Land's End,' he said, ' that night all well, 
and came up Channel with a fair wind. The captain turned in. 
It was my watch. All at once, about nine at night, it began to 
blow in one moment as if the storm burst out by signal : the 
wind went mad ; our canvas burst in bits. We reeved fresh 
sails : they went also. At last we were under bare poles. The 
captain had turned out when the storm began. He sent me 
forward to look out for Lundy Light. I saw your cliff. [This 
was a bluff and broken headland just by the southern boundary 
of my own glebe.] I sang out, " Land ! " I had hardly done 
so when she struck with a blow, and stuck fast. Then the cap- 
tain sang out, " All hands to the maintop ! " and we all went up. 
The captain folded his arms, and stood by, silent.' 

" Here I asked him, anxious to know how they expressed 
themselves at such a time, ' But what was said afterwards, Le 
Daine ? ' 



LE DAINE'S STORY. 145 

" ' Not one word, sir ; only once, when the long boat went 
over, I said to the skipper, " Sir, the boat is gone." But he 
made no answer.' 

" How accurate was Byron's painting ! — 

* Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave.' 

" ' At last there came on a dreadful wave, mast-top high, and 
away went the mast by the board, and we with it, into the sea. 
I gave myself up. I was the only man on the ship that could 
not swim ; so, where I fell into the water, there I lay. I felt 
the waves beat me, and send me on. At last there was a rock 
under my hand. I clung on. Just then I saw Alick Kant, one 
of our crew, swimming past. I saw him lay his hand on a rock, 
and I sang out, " Hold on, Alick!" But a wave rolled, aiwl 
swept him away, and I never saw his face more. I was beaten 
onward and onward among the rocks and the tide, and at last I 
felt the gro'ind with my feet. I scrambled on. I saw the cliff, 
steep and d irk, above my head. I climbed up until I reached a 
kind of platform with grass ; and there I fell down flat upon my 
face, and either I fainted away, or I fell asleep. There I lay a 
long time, and when I awoke it was just the break of day. 
There was a little yellow flower just under my head ; and, when 
I saw that, I knew I was on dry land.' This was a plant of the 
bird's-foot clover, called in old times Our Lady's Finger. He 
went on : ' I could see no house or sign of people, and the 
country looked to me like some wild and desert island. At last 
I felt very thirsty, and I tried to get down towards a valley 
where I thought I should find water. But before I could reach 
it I fell, and grew faint again ; and there, thank God, sir, you 
found me.' 

"Such was Le Daine's sad and simple storj'; and no one 
could listen unmoved to the poor solitary survivor of his ship- 
mates and crew. The coroner arrived, held his 'quest, and the 
usual verdict of ' Wrecked and cast ashore ' empowered me to 
inter the dead sailors, found and future, from the same vessel, 
with the service in the Prayer Book for the Burial of the Dead. 
This decency of sepulture is the result of a somewhat recent 
statute, passed in the reign of George III. Before that time it 



146 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

was the common usage of the coast to dig, just above high-water 
mark, a pit on the shore, and therein to cast, without inquest or 
religious rite, the carcasses of shipwrecked men. My first funeral 
of those lost mariners was a touching and striking scene. The 
three bodies first found were buried at the same time. Behind 
the coffins, as they were solemnly borne along the aisle, walked 
the solitary mourner, Le Daine, weeping bitterly and aloud. 
Other eyes were moist ; for who could hear unsoftened the 
greeting of the Church to these strangers from the sea, and the 
' touch that makes the whole earth kin,' in the hope we breathed, 
that we too might one day ' rest as these our brethren did ' ? It 
was well-nigh too much for those who served that day. Nor 
was the interest subdued when, on the Sunday after the wreck, 
at the appointed place in the service, just before the General 
Thanksgiving, Le Daine rose up from his place, approached the 
altar, and uttered, in an audible but broken voice, his thanks- 
giving for his singular and safe deliverance from the perils of 
the sea. 

" The text of the sermon that day demands its history. 
Some time before, a vessel, ' The Hero,' of Liverisool, was seen 
in distress, in the offing of a neighboring harbor, during a storm. 
The crew, mistaking a signal from the beach, betook themselves 
to their boat. It foundered; and the whole ship's company, 
twelve in number, were drowned in sight of the shore. But the 
stout ship held together, and drifted on to the land, so unshat- 
tered by the sea, that the coast-guard, who went immediately on 
board, found the fire burning in the cabin. When the vessel 
came to be examined, they found in one of the berths a Bible, 
and between its leaves a sheet of paper, whereon some recent 
hand had transcribed verses, the twenty-first, twenty-second, and 
twenty-third, of the thirty-third chapter of Isaiah. The same 
hand had also marked the passage with a line of ink along the 
margin. The name of the owner of the book was also found 
inscribed on the fly-leaf. He was a youth of eighteen years of 
age, the son of a widow ; and a statement under his name re- 
corded that the Bible was ' a reward for his good conduct in a 
Sunday school.' This text, so identified and enforced by a hand 
that soon after grew cold, appeared strangely and strikingly 



BURIAL OF THE WRECKED. 147 

adapted to the funeral of shipwrecked men ; and it was there- 
fore chosen as the theme for our solemn day. The very hearts 
of the people seemed hushed to hear it ; and every eye was turned 
towards Le Daine, who bowed his head upon his hands, and wept. 
These are the words : ' But there the glorious Lord will be unto 
us a place of broad rivers and streams ; wherein shall go no gal- 
ley with oars, neither shall gallant ships pass thereby. For the 
Lord is our Judge, the Lord is our Lawgiver, the Lord is our 
King ; he will save us. Thy tacklings are loosed ; they could 
not well strengthen their mast, they could not spread the sail : 
then is the prey of a great spoil divided ; the lame take the 
prey.' Shall I be forgiven for the vaunt, if I declare that there 
was not literally a single face that day unmoistened and un- 
moved 1 Few, indeed, could have borne without deep emotion 
to see and hear Le Daine. He remained as my guest six weeks ; 
and during the whole of this time we sought diligently, and at 
last we found the whole crew, nine in number. They were dis- 
covered, some under rocks, jammed in by the force of the water, 
so that it took sometimes several ebb-tides, and the strength of 
many hands, to extricate the corpses. The captain I came upon 
myself, lying placidly upon his back, with his arms folded in the 
very gesture which Le Daine had described as he stood amid 
the crew on the maintop. The hand of the spoiler was about 
to assail him, when I suddenly appeared, so that I rescued him 
untouched. Each hand grasped a small pouch or bag. One 
contained his pistols, the other held two little log-reckoners of 
brass ; so that his last thoughts were full of duty to his owners 
and his ship, and" his last efforts for rescue and defence. He 
had been manifestly lifted by a billow, and hurled against a rock, 
and so slain ; for the victims of our cruel sea are seldom drowned, 
but beaten to death by violence and the wrath of the billows. 
We gathered together one poor fellow in five parts : his limbs 
had been wrenched off, and his body rent. During our search 
for his remains, a man came up to me with something in his 
hand, inquiring, ' Can you tell me, sir, what is this ? Is it a 
part of a man?' It was the mangled seaman's heart; and we 
restored it reverently to its place, where it had once beat high 
with life and courage, with thrilling hope and sickening fear. 



148 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Two or three of the dead were not discovered for four or five 
weeks after the wreck ; and these had become so loathsome from 
decay, that it was at peril of health and life to perform the last 
duties we owe to our brother-men. But hearts and hands were 
found for the work ; and at last the good ship's company, cap- 
tain, mate, and crew, were laid at rest, side by side, beneath our 
churchyard trees. Groups of grateful letters from Arbroath are 
to this day among the most cherished memorials of my escritoire. 
Some, written by the friends of the dead, are marvellous proofs 
of the good feeling and educated ability of the Scotch people. 
One from a father breaks off in irrepressible pathos, with a 
burst of, ' O my son, my son ! ' We placed at the foot of the 
captain's grave the figure-head of his vessel. It is a carved 
image, life-size, of his native Caledonia, in the garb of her 
country, with sword and shield.^ 

"At the end of about six weeks Le Daine left my house on 
his homeward way, a sadder and a richer man. Gifts had been 
proffered from many a hand, so that he was able to return to 
Jersey with happy and joyful mien, well clothed, and with thirty 
pounds in his purse. His recollections of our scenery were not 
such as were in former times associated with the Cornish shore ;< 
for three years afterward he returned to the place of his disaster 
accompanied by his uncle, sister, and affianced wife, and he had 
brought them, that, in his own joyous words, ' they might see the 
spot of his great deliverance ; ' and there, one summer day, they 
stood, a group of happy faces, gazing with wonder and gratitude 
on our rugged cliffs, that were then clad in that gorgeous vesture 
of purple and gold which the heather and gorse wind and weave 
along the heights ; and the soft blue wave lapping the sand in 
gentle cadence, as though the sea had never wreaked an im- 
pulse of ferocity, or rent a helpless prey. Nor was the thank- 
fulness of the sailor a barren feeling. Whensoever afterward 
the vicar sought to purchase for his dairy a Jersey cow, the 

1 A copy of verses to Mr. Hawker, thanking him for his conduct, was 
writen, printed, and circulated in Arbroath. They are by one David Arnott, 
and dated Oct. 13, 1842. They are of no merit. They end thus : — 
" Such deeds as thine are registered in heaven, 
And there alone can due reward be given." 



WRECK OF THE " PIKE NIX :' 149 

family and friends of Le Daine rejoiced to ransack the island 
until they had found the sleekest, loveliest, best, of that beauti- 
ful breed ; and it is to the gratitude of that poor seaman and 
stranger from a distant abode, that the herd of the glebe has 
long been famous in the land ; and hence, as Homer would have 
sung, hence came 

Bleehtah, and Lilith, Neelah, Evan Neelah, and Katy. 

" Strange to say, Le Daine has been twice shipwrecked since 
his first peril, with similar loss of property, but escape of life ; 
and he is now the master of a vessel in the trade of the Levant. 
In the following year a new and another vv'reck was announced 
in the gloom of night. A schooner under bare poles had been 
watched for many hours from the cliffs, with the steersman fas- 
tened at the wheel. All at once she tacked, and made for the 
shore, and just as she had reached a creek between two reefs of 
rock, she foundered and went down. At break of day only her 
vane was visible to mark her billowy grave. Not a vestige could 
be seen of her crew. But in the course of the day her boat was 
drifted ashore, and we found from the name on the stern that 
the vessel was the ' Phoenix' of St. Ives. A letter from myself 
by immediate post brought up next day from that place a sailor 
who introduced himself as the brother of the young man who 
had sailed as mate in the wrecked ship. He was a rough, plain- 
spoken man, of simple religious cast, without guile or pretence ; 
one of the good old seafaring sort ; the men who ' go down to 
the sea in ships, and occupy their business in great waters ; ' 
these, as the Psalmist chants, ' see the wonders of the Lord, 
and his glories in the deep.' At my side he paced the shore 
day after day, in weary quest of the dead. ' If I could but get 
my poor brother's bones,' he cried out yearningly, again and 
again, ' if I could but lay him in the earth, how it would comfort 
dear mother at home ! ' We searched every cranny in the rocks, 
and we watched every surging wave, until hope was exchanged 
for despair. A reward of meagre import, it is true, offered by 
the Seaman's Burial Act, to which 1 have referred, and within 
my own domain doubled always by myself, brought us many a 
comrade in this sickening scrutiny ; but for long it was in vain. 



150 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

At last, one day while we were scattered over a broken stretch 
of jumbled rocks that lay in huddled masses along the base of 
the cliffs, a loud and sudden shout called me where the seaman 
of St. Ives stood. He was gazing down into the broken sea, — 
it was on a spot near low-water mark, — and there, just visible 
from underneath a mighty fragment of rock, was seen the ankle 
of a man, and a foot still wearing a shoe ! ' It is my brother ! ' 
wailed the sailor bitterly : 'it is our dear Jim ; I can swear to 
that shoe ! ' We gathered around : the tide ebbed a very little 
after this discovery, and only just enough to leave dry the sur- 
face of the rock under which the body lay. Soon the sea began 
again to flow, and very quickly we were driven by the rising 
surges from the spot. The anguish of the mourner for his 
dead was thrilling to behold and terrible to hear. 'Oh my 
brother ! my brother ! ' was his sob again and again, ' what a 
burial-place for our own dear boy ! ' I tried to soothe him, but 
in vain : the only theme to which he could be brought to listen 
was the chance — and I confess it seemed to my own secret mind 
a hopeless thought — that it might be possible at the next ebb 
tide, by skill and strength combined, to move, if ever so little, 
the monstrous rock, and so recover the corpse. It was low 
water at evening tide, and there was a bright November moon. 
We gathered in numbers ; for among my parishioners there were 
kind and gentle-hearted men, such as had ' pity, tenderness, and 
tears ; ' and all were moved by the tale of the sailor hurled and 
buried beneath a rock by the strong and cruel sea. The scene 
of our first nightly assemblage was a weird and striking sight. 
Far, far above, loomed the tall and gloomy headlands of the 
coast; around us foamed and raged the boiling waves; the 
moon cast her massive lowering shadows on rock and sea ; 

' And the long moonbeam on the cold, wet sand 
Lay, like a jasper column, half upreared.' 

" Stout and stalwart forms surrounded me, wielding their 
iron bars, pickaxes, and ropes. Their efforts were strenuous 
but unavailing. The tide soon returned in its strength, and 
drove us, baffled, from the spot, before we had been able to 
grasp or shake the ponderous mass. It was calculated by com- 



RECOVERY OF CORPSE. 151 

petent judges that its weight was full fifteen tons : neither couljl 
there be a more graphic image of the resistless strength of the 
wrathful sea, than the aspect of this and similar blocks of 
rifted stone, that were raised and rolled perpetually by the 
power of the billows, and hurled, as in some pastime of the 
giants, along the shuddering shore ! Deep and bitter was 
the grief of the sailor at our failure and retreat. His piteous 
wail over the dead recalled the agony of those who are re- 
corded in Holy Writ, — they who grieved for their lost ones, 
' and would not be comforted, because they were not ! ' That 
night an inspiration visited me in my wakeful bed. At a neigh- 
boring harbor dwelt a relative of mine, who was an engineer, in 
charge of the machinery on a breakwater and canal. To him, at 
morning light, I sent an appeal for succor ; and he immediately 
responded with aidance and advice. Two strong windlasses, 
worked by iron chains, and three or four skilful men, were sent 
up by him next day with instructions for their work. Again at 
evening ebb we were all on the spot. One of our new assist- 
ants, a very Tubal Cain in aspect and stature, and of the same 
craft with that smith before the flood,, plunged ujxjn the rock 
as the water reluctantly revealed its upper side, and drilled a 
couple of holes in the surface with rapid energy, to receive, 
each of them, that which he called a Lewis-wedge and a ring. 
To these the chains of the windlasses were fastened on. They 
then looped a rope around the ankle of the corpse, and gave it, 
as the post of honor, to me to hold. It was on the evening of 
Sunday 1 that all this was done ; and I had deemed it a venial 
breach of discipline to omit the nightly service of the church, 
in order to suit the tide. Forty strong parishioners, all absen- 
tees from evening prayer, manned the double windlass power ; 
I intoned the pull ; and by a strong and blended effort, the 
rocky mass was slowly, silently, and gently upheaved ; a slight 
haul at the rope, and up to our startled view and to the sudden 
lights, came forth the altered, ghastly, flattened semblance of a 
man ! ' My brother ! my brother ! ' shrieked a well-known voice 

1 A man present on this occasion tells me that the recovery of the body 
took place on a Monday, and not on a Sunday. Mr. Hawker had daily prayer 
in his church. — S. B.-G. 



152 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

at my side, and tears of gratitude and suffering gushed in min- 
gled torrent over his rugged cheek. A coffin had been made 
ready, under the hope of final success ; and therein we rever- 
ently laid the disfigured carcass of one who, a little while 
before, had been the young and joyous inmate of a fond and 
happy home. We had to clamber up a steep and difficult path- 
way along the cliff with the body, which was carried by the 
bearers in a kind of funeral train. The vicar of course led the 
way.^ When we were about half-way up, a singular and striking 
event occurred, which moved us all exceedingly. Unobserved, 
for all were intent on their solemn task, a vessel had neared the 
shore : she lay to, and, as it seemed, had watched us with night- 
glasses from the deck, or had discerned us from the torches and 
lanterns in our hands. For all at once there sounded along the 
air three deep and thrilling cheers ! And we could see that the 
crew on board had manned their yards. It was manifest that 
their loyal and hearty voices and gestures were intended to 
greet our fulfilment of duty to a brother mariner's remains. 
The burial-place of the dead sailors in this churchyard is a 
fair and fitting scene for their quiet rest. Full in view, and 
audible in sound, forever rolls the sea. Is it not to them a 
soothing requiem that 

' Old Ocean, with its everlasting voice, 
As in perpetual jubilee, proclaims 
The praises of the Almighty ' ? 

Trees stand, like warders, beside their graves ; and the Norman 
shingled church, ' the mother of us all,' dwells in silence by, to 
watch over her safe and slumbering dead. And it recalls the 
imagery of the Holy Book wherein we read of the gathered 
reliques of the ancient slain : ' And Rizpah the daughter of Aiah 
took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock from the 
beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of 
heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on 
them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night' 

" A year had passed away when the return of the equinox 
adir.onished us again to listen for storms and wrecks. There 

1 With cross going before him, in his surplice, reciting psalms. 



THE "ALONZO'' OF STOCKTON. 153 

are men in this district whose usage it is at every outbreak of a 
gale of wind to watch the cliffs from rise to set of sun. Of 
these my quaint old parishioner, Peter Barrow, was one. On a 
wild winter day I found myself seated on a rock with Peter 
standing by, at a point that overhung the sea. We were both 
gazing with anxious dismay at a ship which was beating to and 
fro in the Channel, and had now drifted much too near to the 
shore : she had come into sight some hours before, struggling 
with Harty Race, the local name of a narrow boisterous run of 
sea between Lundy and the land ; and she was now within three 
or four miles of our rocks. ' Ah, sir ! ' said Peter, ' the coastmen 

say, — 

" From Padstowe Point to Lundy Light, 
Is a watery grave by day or night." 

And I think the poor fellows off there will find it so.' All at 
once, as we still watched the vessel laboring on the sea, a boat 
was launched over her side, and several men plunged unto it 
one by one. With strained and anxious eyes we searched the 
billows for the course of the boat. Sometimes we caught a 
glimpse as it rode upon some surging wave; then it disappeared 
a while. At last we could see it no more. Meanwhile the vessel 
had held down Channel, tacked and steered as if still beneath 
the guidance of some of her crew, although it must have been 
in sheer desperation that they still hugged the shore. What 
was to be done ? If she struck, the men still on board must 
perish without help, for nightfall drew on. If the boat re- 
appeared, Peter could make a signal where to land. In hot 
haste then I made for the vicarage, ordered my horse, and re- 
turned towards the cliffs. The ship rode on, and I accompanied 
her way along the shore. She reached the offing of Bude Ha- 
ven, and there grounded on the sand. No boatman could be 
induced to put off, and thick darkness soon after fell. I returned 
worn, heartsick, and weary on my homeward way ; there strange 
tidings greeted me : the boat which we had watched so long had 
been rolled ashore by the billows, empty. Peter Barrow had 
hauled her above high-water mark, and had found a name, the 
'Alonzo' of Stockton-on-Tees, on her stern. That night I 
wrote as usual to the owner, with news of the wreck, and the 



154 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

next day we were able to guess at the misfortunes of the 
stranded ship: a boat had visited the vessel, and found her 
freighted with iron from Gloucester for a queen's yard round 
the Land's End. Her papers in the cabin showed that her crew 
of nine men had been reported all sound and well three days 
before. The owners' agent arrived; and he stated that her cap- 
tain was a brave and trusty officer, and that he must have been 
compelled by his men to join them when they deserted the ship. 
They must all have been swamped and lost not long after the 
launch of the boat, and while we watched for them in vain amid 
the waves. Then ensued what has long been with me the sad- 
dest and most painful duty of the shore : we sought and waited 
for the dead. Now, there is a folk-lore of the beach, that no 
corpse will float or be found until the ninth day after death- 
The truth is, that about that time the body proceeds to decom- 
pose ; and as a natural result it ascends to the surface of the 
current, is brought into the shallows of the tide, and is there 
found. The owners' representative was my guest for ten days ; 
and with the help of the ship's papers and his own personal 
knowledge we were able to identify the dead. First of all, the 
body of the captain came in : he was a fine, stalwart, and reso- 
lute-looking man. His countenance, however, had a grim and 
angry aspect, just such an expression as would verify the truth 
of our suspicion that he had been driven by others to forsake 
his deck. Then arrived the mate and three other men of the 
crew. None were placid of feature, or calm and pleasant in 
look, as those usually are who are accidentally drowned, or who 
die in their beds. 

" But one day my strange old man, Peter Barrow, came to 
me in triumphant haste with the loud greeting, ' Sir ! we have 
got a noble corpse down on your beach. We have just laid 
him down above high-water mark, and he is as comely a body 
as a man shall see ! ' I made haste to the spot ; and there lay, 
with the light of a calm and wintry day falling on his manly 
form, a fine and stately example of a man : he was six feet two 
inches in height, of firm and accurate proportion throughout; 
and he must have been, indeed, in life a shape of noble symme- 
try and grace. On his broad smooth chest was tattooed a rood, 



PHILIP BENGSTEIN. 1 55 

that is to say, our blessed Saviour on his cross, with on the 
one hand his mother, and on the other St. John the Evangelist : 
underneath were the initial letters of a name, P. B. His arms 
also were marked with tracery in the same blue lines. On his 
right arm was engraved P. B. again, and E. M., the letters 
linked with a wreath ; and on his left arm was an anchor, as I 
imagined the symbol of hope, and the small blue forget-me-not 
flower. The greater number of my dead sailors — and I have 
myself said the burial-service over forty-two such men rescued 
from the sea, — were so decorated with some distinctive em- 
blem and name ; and it is their object and intent, when they 
assume these signs, to secure identity for their bodies if their 
lives are lost at sea. We carried the strangely decorated man 
to his comrades of the deck ; and gradually in the course of one 
month we discovered and carefully buried the total crew of nine 
strong men. These gathered strangers, the united assemblage 
from many a distant and diverse abode, now calmly slept among 
our rural and homely graves, the stout seamen of the ship 
'Alonzo' of Stockton-on-Tees. The boat which had foun- 
dered with them we brought also to the churchyard ; and there, 
just by their place of rest, we placed her beside them, keel up- 
ward to the sky, in token that her work, too, was over, and her 
voyage done. There her timbers slowly moulder still ; and by 
and by her dust will mingle in the scenery of death with the 
ashes of those living hearts and hands that manned her, in 
their last unavailing launch, and fruitless struggle for the mas- 
tery of life.i But the history of the 'Alonzo' is not yet closed. 
Three years afterwards a letter arrived from the Danish consul 
at a neighboring seaport town, addressed to myself as the vicar 
of the parish ; and the hope of the writer was that he might be 
able to ascertain through myself, for two anxious and grieving 
parents in Denmark, tidings of their lost son. His name, he 
said, was Phihp Bengstein; and it was in the correspondence 
that this strange and touching history transpired. The father, 
who immediately afterward wrote to my address, told me in 
tearful words that his son, bearing that name, had gone away 

1 The boat is rotted nearly away, the bows alone remain tolerably entire. — 
5. B.-G. 



156 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

from his native home because his parents had resisted a mar- 
riage which he was desirous to contract. They found that he 
had gone to sea before the mast, a position much below his 
station in life ; and they had traced him from ship to ship, 
until at last they found him on the papers of the ' Alonzo ' of 
Stockton-on-Tees. Then their inquiry as to the fate of that 
vessel had led them to the knowledge, through the owners, that 
the vicar of a parish on the seaboard of North Cornwall could 
in all likelihood convey to them some tidings of their long-lost 
son. I related in reply the history of the death, discovery, and 
burial of the unfortunate young man. I was enabled to verify 
and to understand the initial letters of his own name, and of 
her who was not to become his bride, although she still clung 
to his memory in loving loneliness in that foreign land. Ample 
evidence, therefore, verified his corpse; and I was proudly en- 
abled to certify to his parents the reverent burial of their child. 
A letter is treasured among my papers filled to overflowing with 
the strong and earnest gratitude of a stranger and a Dane for 
the kindness we had rendered to one who loved ' not wisely ' 
perchance, ' but too well,' to that son who had been lost, and 
was found too late ; one, too, whose 'course of true love' had 
brought him from distant Denmark to a green hillock among 
the dead, beneath a lonely tower among the trees, by the Corn- 
ish sea. What a picture was that which we saw painted upon 
the bosom and limbs of a dead man, of fond and faithful love, 
of severed and broken hearts, of disappointed hope, of a vacant 
chair and a hushed voice in a far-away Danish home ! " 



WELLCOMBE. 157 



CHAPTER VI. 

Wellcombe. — Mr. Hawker Postman to Wellcombe. — The Miss Kitties. — 
Advertisement of Roger Giles. — Superstitions. — The Evil Eye. — The 
Spiritual Ether. — The Vicar's Pigs bewitched. — Horse killed by a 
Witch. — He finds a lost Hen. — A Lecture against Witchcraft. — Its 
Failure. — An Encounter with the Pixies. — Curious Picture of a Pixie 
Revel. — The Fairy-Ring. — Antony Cleverdon and the MeiTnaids. 

About three miles from Morwenstow as the crow 
flies, and five or six by road, on the coast, is a little 
church and hamlet called Wellcombe. The church 
probably occupies the site of a cell of St. Nectan, 
and is dedicated to him. It is old and interesting. 
The parish forms a horseshoe with the heels toward 
the sea, which is here reached by a rapidly descend- 
ing glen ending in a cove. It is a small parish, with 
some two hundred and thirty inhabitants, people of 
a race different from those in the adjoining parishes, 
with black eyes and hair, and dark-skinned. ** Dark- 
grained as a Wellcombe woman," is a saying in the 
neighborhood when a brunette is being described. 
The people are singularly ignorant and superstitious : 
they are a religious people, and attend church with 
great regularity and devotion. The chief land-owner 
and lord of the manor is Lord Clinton, and the vicar- 
age is in his gift. It is only worth seventy pounds. 



158 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

and there is neither glebe nor parsonage house ; con- 
sequently Wellcombe generally goes with Hartland 
or Morwenstow. 

When Mr. Hawker became vicar of Morwenstow, 
Wellcombe was held by the vicar of Hartland ; but 
on his death, in 1851, Lord Clinton gave it to Mr. 
Hawker. 

Mr. Hawker accordingly took three services every 
Sunday. He had his morning prayer at Morwenstow 
at eleven, and then drove over to Wellcombe, where 
he had afternoon service at two p.m. ; and then re- 
turned to Morwenstow for evening prayer at five p.m. 

He never ate between services. Directly morning 
prayer was over, he got into his gig ; a basket of 
pipes, all loaded, was handed in, and he drove off to 
Wellcombe, smoking all the way ; and, after having 
taken duty, he smoked all the way back. Once a 
month he celebrated the holy communion at Well- 
combe ; and then, through the kindness of the rector 
of Kilkhampton, the morning service at Morwenstow 
was not allowed to fall through. 

Mr. Hawker for long acted as postman to Well- 
combe. The inhabitants of that remote village did 
not often get letters : when missives arrived for them, 
they were left at Morwenstow vicarage, and on the 
following Sunday a distribution of the post took 
place in the porch after divine service. 

But the parishioners of Wellcombe were no " schol- 
ards ; " and the vicar was generally required to read 
their letters to them, and sometimes to write the 
answers. 

On one occasion he was reading a letter to an old 



THE MISS KITTIES. 159 

woman of Wellcombe, whose son was in Brazil. Part 
of the letter ran as follows : " I cannot tell you, dear 
mother, how the muskitties [mosquitoes] torment 
me. They never leave me alone, but pursue me 
everywhere." 

"To think of that!" interrupted the old woman. 
" My Ezekiel must be a handsome lad ! But I'm 
interrupting. Do you go on, please, parson." 

" Indeed, dear mother," continued the vicar, read- 
ing, " I shut my door and window of an evening, to 
keep them out of my room." 

"Dear life!" exclaimed the old woman, "what 
will the world come to next ! " 

"And yet," continued the vicar, "they do not 
leave me alone. I believe they come down the 
chimney to get at me." 

"Well, well, now, parson!" exclaimed the mother, 
holding up her hands : " to think how forward of 
them ! " 

"Of whom.?" 

"Why, the Miss Kitties, sure. When I were 
young, maidens would have blushed to do such a 
thing. And come down the chimbley too ! " After 
a pause, mother's pride overmastering sense of what 
befitted her sex, " But Ezekiel must be rare hand- 
some, for the maidens to be after him so. And, I 
reckon, the Miss Kitties is quality-folk too." 

Mr. Hawker thus describes the Wellcombe people : 
" They have amongst them no farrier for their cattle, 
no medical man for themselves, no beerhouse, no 
shop ; a man who travels for a distant town (Strat- 
ton) supplies them with sugar by the ounce, or tea 



l6o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

in smaller quantities still. Not a newspaper is taken 
in throughout the hamlet, although they are occa- 
sionally astonished and delighted by the arrival, 
from some almost-forgotten friend in Canada, of an 
ancient copy of ' The Toronto Gazette.' This pub- 
lication they pore over to weariness ; and on Sunday 
they will worry the clergyman with questions about 
transatlantic places and names, of which he is 
obliged to confess himself utterly ignorant. An an- 
cient dame once exhibited her prayer-book, very 
nearly worn out, printed in the reign of George II., 
and very much thumbed at the page from which she 
assiduously prayed for the welfare of Prince Fred- 
erick." 

The people of Wellcombe are very ignorant. In- 
deed, a good deal of ignorance lingers still in the 
West of England. The schoolmaster has not yet 
thrown a great blaze of light on the Devonian mind, 
and the Cornish mind is not much better illuminated. 

I give a specimen of English composition by a 
schoolmaster of the old style in Devonshire ; and it 
may be guessed that the Cornish fared not better 
for teachers than their Wessex neighbors. 

This is an advertisement, written over a little 
shop : — 

" Roger Giles, Surgin, Parish dark and Skulemaster, 
Groser, and Hundertaker, Respectably informs ladys and gen- 
tlemen that he drors teef without wateing a minit, applies 
laches every hour, blisters on the lowest tarms, and vizicks for 
a penny a peace. He sells Godfather's Kordales, kuts korns, 
bunyons, dokters bosses, clips donkies, wance a munth, and 
undertakes to luke arter every bodies nayls by the ear. Joes- 
harps, penny wissels, brass kanel-sticks, fryinpans, and other 



THE EVIL EYE. l6l 

moozikal hinstrumints hat grately reydooced figers. Young 
ladys and genelmen larnes their grammur and langeudge, in the 
purtiest manner, also grate care taken off their morrels and 
spellin. Also zarm-zinging, tayching the base vial, and all other 
zorts of vancy-work, squadrils, pokers, weazils, and all country 
dances tort at home and abroad at perfekshun. Perfumery and 
znuff, in all its branches. As times is cruel bad, I begs to tell 
ey that i his just beginned to sell all sorts of stashonary ware, 
cox, hens, vouls, pigs, and all other kinds of poultry. Blakin- 
brishes, herrins, coles, skrubbin-brishes, traykel, godly bukes 
and bibles, mise-traps, brick-dist, whisker-seed, morrel pokker- 
ankerchers, and all zorts of swatemaits, including taters, sas- 
sages, and other gardin stuff, bakky, zigars, lamp oyle, tay-kit- 
tles, and other intoxzikatin likkers ; a dale of fruit, hats, zongs, 
hare oyle, pattins, bukkits, grindin stones, and other ai tables, 
korn and bunyon zalve and all hardware. I as laid ii^ a large 
azzortment of trype, dogs' mate, lolipops, ginger-beer, matches, 
and other pikkles, such as hepsom salts, hoysters, Winzer sope, 
anzetrar. 

" Old rags bort and zold here and nowhere else, new lade 
heggs by me Roger Giles ; zinging burdes keeped, sich as 
howles, donkies, paykox, lobsters, crickets, also the stock of a 
celebrated brayder. Agent for selling gutty-porker souls. P.S. 
— I tayches gografy, rithmetic, cowstiks, jimnastiks, and other 
chynees tricks." 

The people of Wellcombe are not only ignorant, 
but superstitious. Mr. Hawker shared at least some 
of their superstitions. Living as he did, in a vision- 
ary dream-world of spirits, he was ready to admit, 
without questioning, the stories he heard of witch- 
craft, and the power of the evil eye. 

Whenever he came across any one with a peculiar 
eyeball, sometimes bright and clear, and at others 
covered with a filmy gauze, or a double pupil, ringed 
twice, or a larger eye on the left than on the right 



1 62 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

side, he would hold the thumb, fore, and middle fin- 
gers in a peculiar manner, so as to ward off the evil 
effect of the eye. 

He had been descanting one day on the blight 
which such an eye could cast, when his companion 
said, " Really, Mr. Hawker, you do not believe such 
rubbish as this, in the nineteenth century." 

He turned round, and said gravely, " I do not pre- 
tend to be wiser than the Word of God. I find that 
the evil eye is reckoned along with 'blasphemy, 
pride, and foolishness,' as things that defile a man." ^ 
And he would produce a curious passage from Helio- 
dorus : " * Tell me, my good Calasiris, what is the 
complaint that has attacked your daughter .-' ' — ' You 
ought not to be surprised,' I replied, ' if, when she 
was leading the procession in the presence of so vast 
an assemblage, she has drawn upon herself some 
envious eye.' Whereupon, smiling ironically, 'Do 
you, then,' asked he, 'like the vulgar in general, be- 
lieve in the existence of such a fascination V — ' As 
much as I do in any other fact,' I replied; 'and the 
thing is thus : This air that surrounds us, passing, as 
it were, through a strainer, through the eyes, the 
nostrils, the breath, and the other passages, into the 
inward parts, and the external properties rushing in 
together with it, whatever be its quality as it flows 
in, of the same nature is the effect it disseminates 
in the recipients ; so that, when any one looks upon 

1 Mark vii. 21; cf. also Prov. xxiii. 6, xxviii. 22; Matt. vi. 23; Luke 
xi. 34 ; Matt. xx. 15. It must be remembered, that, when the Gospels were 
written, tlie o(j)OaX/xdg novijpog or <})dovep6g was universally believed in, and the 
expression had its meaning well understood. 



SUPERSTITIONS. 1 63 

beauty with envy, he fills the circumambient air 
with a malignant property, and diffuses upon his 
neighbor the breath coming from himself replete 
with bitterness ; and this, being, as it is, of a most 
subtle nature, penetrates through into the very bones 
and marrow. Hence envy has often turned itself 
into a true disease, and has received the distinctive 
name of fascination (^aGxovia). . . . Let, above every 
thing else, the origin of love be a support for my 
argument, which owes its first beginning to the 
sight, which shoots, like arrows, passion into the 
soul. . . . And if you wish for a proof drawn from 
natural history, and recorded in the sacred books, — 
the bird yellow-hammer cures the jaundice ; and, if the 
person so affected should but look at the bird, the 
latter at once endeavors to escape, and shuts its 
eyes ; not, as some think, because it begrudges the 
benefit to the sick man, but because, if looked upon, 
it is forced by its nature to attract the disease like 
an exhalation into its own body, and 'therefore shuns 
the glance as much as a blow. And of serpents : 
the basilisk, — does not he, as you may have heard, 
kill and blast whatever comes in his way, by his eye 
and breath alone .'' And if some give the stroke of 
the evil eye even to those they love, and are well dis- 
posed towards, one must not be surprised ; for people 
of an envious disposition do not what they wish, but 
what their nature compels them to.' " ^ 

This explanation of the evil eye by Heliodorus, 
Bishop of Tricca in Thessaly,^ approved itself to Mr. 

1 Heliodorus, Theagenes and Charicles, iii. 8. 

2 According to Nicephorus, a provincial synod, alarmed at the danger to 



l64 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Hawker's mind, as it fell in with a theory he had, 
that there was an atmosphere which surrounded men, 
imperceptible to the senses, which was the vehicle of 
spirit, in which angels and devils moved, and which 
vibrated with spiritual influences affecting the soul. 
Every passion man felt set this ether trembling, 
and made itself felt throughout the spiritual world. 
A sensation of love, or anger, or jealousy, felt by one 
man, was like a stone thrown into a pool ; and it sent 
a ripple throughout the spiritual universe, which 
touched and communicated itself to every spiritual 
being. Some mortal men, having a highly refined 
soul, were as conscious of these pulsations as disem- 
bodied beings ; but the majority are so numbed in 
their spiritual part, as to make no response to these 
movements. 

He pointed out that photography has brought to 
light and taken cognizance of a chemical element in 
the sun's rays, of which none formerly knew any 
thing, but the existence of which is now proved : so, 
in like manner, was there a spiritual element in the 
atmosphere, of which science could not give account, 
as its action could only be registered by the soul of 
man, which answered to the calms and storms in it 
as the barometer to the atmosphere, and the films of 
gold-leaf in the magnetometer to the commotions 
of the magnetic wave. 

There was an old woman at Morwenstow who he 
fully believed was a witch. If any one combated 
his statement, he would answer, " I have seen the 

morals of the amatory romance of the bishop, required him either to burn his 
novel, or resign his bishopric : he chose the latter course. 



CHERRY PARNELL. 1 65 

five black spots placed diagonally under her tongue, 
which are evidences of what she is. They are like 
those in the feet of swine, made by the entrance into 
them of the demons at Gadara." 

This old woman came every day to the vicarage 
for skimmed milk. One day there was none, and 
she had to leave with an empty can. " As she went 
away," said the vicar, " I saw her go mumbling some- 
thing beside the pig-sty. She looked over at the 
pigs, and her eye and incantation worked. I ran out 
ten minutes after to look at my sow, which had far- 
rowed lately ; and there I saw the sow, which, like 
Medea, had taken a hatred to her own offspring, 
spurning them away from her milk ; and there sat 
all the nine sucking-pigs on their tails, with their 
fore-paws in the air, begging in piteous fashion ; but 
the evil eye of old Cherry had turned the mother's 
heart to stone, and she let them die onfe by one before 
her eyes." 

Some years agone a violent thunderstorm passed 
over the parish, and wrought great damage in its 
course. Trees were rooted up, cattle killed, and a 
rick or two set on fire. 

" It so befell that I visited, the day after, one of the 
chief agricultural inhabitants of the village ; and I 
found the farmer and his men standing by a ditch 
wherein lay, heels upward, a fine young horse, quite 
dead, * Here, sir,' he shouted, as I came on, * only 
please to look : is not this a sight to see .■• ' I looked 
at the poor animal, and uttered my sympathy and re- 
gret at the loss. ' One of the fearful results,' I said, 
'of the storm yesterday.' — 'There, Jem,' said he to 



1 66 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

one of his men triumphantly, 'didn't I say the par- 
son would find it out ? — Yes, sir,' he said, 'it is as 
you say : it is all that wretched old Cherry Parnell's 
doing, with her vengeance and her noise.' I stared 
with astonishment at this unlooked-for interpretation 
which he had put into my mouth, and waited for him 
to explain. ' You see, sir,' he went on to say, ' the 
case was this : Old Cherry came up to my place, 
tottering along, and mumbling that she wanted a 
fagot of wood. I said to her, " Cherry, I gave you 
one only two days agone, and another two days 
before that ; and I must say that I didn't make up 
my woodrick altogether for you." So she turned 
away, looking very grany, and muttering something. 
Well, sir, last night, as I was in bed, I and my wife, 
all to once there bursted a thunderbolt, and shaked 
the very room and house. Up we started ; and my 
wife says, " Oh, father, old Cherry's up ! I wish I 
had gone after her with that there fagot." I confess 
I thought in my mind, I wish she had ; but it was too 
late then, and I would try to hope for the best. But 
now, sir, you see with your own eyes what that re- 
vengeful old woman has been and done. And I do 
think, sir,' he went on to say, changing his tone to a 
kind of indignant growl, 'I do think, that when I call 
to mind how I've paid tithe and rates faithfully all 
these years, and kept my place in church before your 
reverence every Sunday, and always voted in the ves- 
tries that what hath and be ought to be, — I do think 
that such ones as old Cherry Parnell never ought to 
be allowed to meddle with such things as thunder 
and lightning.' " 



CHERRY PARNELL. 167 

A farmer came to Mr. Hawker once with the com- 
plaint : " Parson, I've lost my brown speckled hen : I 
reckon old Cherry have been and conjured her away. 
I wish you'd be so gude as to draw a circle, and find 
out where my brown speckled hen have been spirited 
away to." 

The vicar had his cross-handled walking-stick in 
his hand, a sort of Oriental pastoral staff ; and he 
forthwith drew a circle in the dust, and sketched a 
pentacle within it, — Solomon's seal, in fact, — whilst 
he thought the matter over. 

"I believe, Thomas," said he, "the brown speckled 
hen has never got out of your lane : the hedges are 
walled and high," 

In the afternoon back came the farmer. " Parson, 
you've done for old Cherry with your circle. I found 
the brown speckled hen in our lane." 

Not twenty miles from Morwenstow, a few years 
ago, occurred the following circumstances, which I 
know are true, and which I give here as an illustra- 
tion of the superstition which prevails in Devon and 
Cornwall. 

A boy of the parish of X , proving intelligent 

in the national school, was sent by the rector to Exe- 
ter to the training-college, in time passed his exami- 
nation, and obtained his certificate. He then returned 
for a holiday to his native village, and volunteered to 
deliver, in the schoolroom, a lecture on " Popular 
Superstitions." 

The lecture was announced : the rector took the 
chair, the room was crowded, and a very fair dis- 
course was delivered against the prevailing belief in 



l68 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

witchcraft. The lecturer was heard patiently to the 
close ; and then up rose one of the principal farmers 
in the place, Brown by name. 

" Mr. Lecturer," said he, " and all good people 
here assembled : You've had your say against witch- 
craft, and you says that there ain't nothing of the 
sort. Now, I'll tell'y a thing or two, — facts; and a 
pinch of facts is worth a bushel of reasons. There 
was, t'other day, my cow Primrose, the Guernsey, and 
as gude a cow for milk as ever was. Well, on that 
day, when my missus put the milk on the fire to 
scald 'un, it wouldn't hot. She put on a plenty of 
wood, and turves, and brimmle-bushes, but 'twouldn't 
hot noways. And sez ishe to me, as I comes in, ' I'll 
tell'y what tez, Richard : Primrose has been over- 
looked by old Betty Spry. Now, you go off as fast 
as you can to the White Witch up to Exeter.' Well, 
I did so ; and when I came to the White Witch as 
lives nigh All Hallows on the Walls I was shown into 
a room ; and there was a farmer stamping about, in 
just such a predicament as me. Sez I, 'Are you 
come to see the White Witch t ' — ' Ah, that I be ! ' 
sez he : ' my old cow has fallen ill, and won't give no 
milk.' — ' Why,' sez I, 'my cow's milk won't hot, and 
the missus has put a lot of fire underneath.' — 'Do 
you suspect anybody V sez he. ' I do,' sez I : ' there's 
old Betty Spry has an evil eye, and her's the one as 
has done it.' Just then the (door opens, and the 
maiden looks in, and sez to me, 'Mr. Brown, the 
White Witch will speak with you.' And then I am 
shown into the next room. Well, directly I come in, 
sez. he to me, 'I know what you've come for, before 



A LECTURE ON SUPERSTITION. 169 

you speak a word : your cow's milk won't scald. I'll 
tell'y why : she's been overlooked by an old woman 
named Betty Spry.' He said so to me, as sure as 
eggs is eggs, and I never had told him not one word. 
Then sez he to me, ' You go home, and get sticks out 
of four different parishes, and set them under the 
milk, and her'll boil' Well, I paid 'un a crown, and 
then I came here ; and I fetched sticks from Lew 
Trenchard, and from Stowford, and from German's 
Week, and from Broadwood Widger ; and no sooner 
were they lighted under the pan than the milk boiled." 
Then up rose Farmer Tickle, very red in the face, 
and said : " Mr. Lecturer ! You've said that there be 
no such things as spirits and ghosts. I'll tell'y some- 
thing. I was coming over Broadbury one night, and 
somehow or other I lost my way. I was afraid of 
falling into the bog, — you know all about that bog, 
don't'y, by the old Roman castle .'' There was a gen- 
tleman — a sort of traveller, in my recollection — was 
driving over Broadbury in a light tax-cart, and sud- 
denly he went into the bog, and his horse and cart 
were swallowed up, and he had much ado to save 
himself. Well, he didn't want to lose his tax-cart 
and harness, for the tax-cart contained bales of cloth, 
and the harness was new : so he went to the black- 
smith at the cross, and got him to come there with 
his man and grappling-irons. They let the irons 
down into the bog, and presently they got hold of 
something, and began to draw it up. It was a horse ; 
and they threw it on the side, and said, ' There, sir, 
now you have your horse.' — 'No,' answered he, look- 
ing hard at it, 'this is a hunter, with saddle and 



170 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

stirrups. Let down the irons again,' So they felt 
about once more, and presently they pulled up another 
horse, and laid him on the side. ' There, sir, is this 
yours .'' ' sez the blacksmith : * he's in gig-harness all 
right.' — *No,' sez the traveller: 'my horse was a 
dapple, and this is a gray. Down with the irons 
again.' This time they cries out, ' Yo, heave-oh ! 
we've got hold of the tax-cart ! ' But when they 
pulled 'un up it was a phaeton. So they let their 
grappling-irons down again, and presently up came 
another horse, and this was in harness ; but sez the 
traveller, ' He's not mine, for mine was a mare. Try 
again, my fine fellows.' Next as came up had no har- 
ness at all on ; and the next had blinkers with Squire 

G 's crest on them. Well, they worked all day, 

and they got up a dozen horses and three carriages, 
but they never found the traveller's tax-cart and the 
dapple mare. 

"But, Lor' bless me! I've been wandering again 
on Broadbury, and now I must return to the point. 
Knowing what I did about the bog, I was a bit frighted 
of falling into her. Presently I came to a bit of old 
quarry and rock, and I thought there might be some 
one about, so I shouted at the top of my voice, 
* Farmer Tickle has lost his way.' Well, just then a 
voice from among the stones answered me, and said, 

' Who } who .? ' — ' Farmer Tickle of X , I say.' 

Then the voice answered again, asking : 'Who .-' who .'' 
who .-• ' — ' Are ye hard of hearing .'' ' I shouted. ' I say 
tez farmer Tickle, as live in the old rummling farm 
of Southcot in X parish.' As imperent as pos- 
sible again the voice asked : ' Who } who .-* who ? ' — 



FARMER TICKLE AND THE OWL. 171 

* Tez farmer Tickle, I tell'y ! ' I shouted ; ' and if you 
axes again I'll come along of you with my stick.' 
— ' Who ? who ? who ? ' I ran to the rocks, and beat 
about with my stick ; and then a great white thing 
rushed out " — 

" It was an owl," said the lecturer scornfully. 

"An owl!" echoed farmer Tickle. "I put it to 
the meeting. A man as says this was an owl, and 
not a pixie, would say any thing ! " and he sat down 
amidst great applause. 

Then up rose farmer Brown once more. 

" Gentlemen, and laboring-men, and also women," 
he began, " I'll give you another pinch of facts. 
Before I was married I was going along by Culmpit 
one day, when I met old Betty Spry ; and she sez to 
me, ' Cross my hand with silver, my pretty boy, and 
I'll tell you who your true love will be." So I thinks 
I'd like to know that, and I gives her a sixpence. 
Then sez she, ' Mark the first maiden that you meet 
as you go along the lane that leads to Eastway 
House : she's the one that will make you a wife.' 
Well, I was going along that way, and the first maiden 
I met was Patience Kite. I thought she was comely 
and fresh-looking : so, after going a few steps on, I 
turns my head over my shoulder, and looks back at 
her ; and what in the world should she be doing at 
exactly the same minute but looking back at me ! 
Then I went after her, and said, ' Patience, will you 
be Mrs. Brown .'' ' and she said, 'I don't mind, I'm 
noways partickler.' And now she is my wife. Look 
at her yonder, as red as a turkey-cock : there she sits, 
and so you may know my story is true. But how 



172 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

did Betty Spry know this before ever I had spoken 
the words ? That beats me ! " 

Then, once more, up stood farmer Tickle. 

" Mr. Lecturer, Mr. Chairman, I puts it to you. 
First and last we must come to Holy Scripter. Now, 
I ask you, Mr. Chairman, being our parson, and you, 
Mr. Lecturer, being a scholard, and all you as have 
got Bibles, whether Holy Scripter does not say, 
' Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,' — whether 
Holy Scripter does not say that the works of the 
flesh are idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emu- 
lations, and such like .'' Now, if witchcraft be all 
moonshine, then I reckon so be hatred, variance, and 
emulations too. Now, I put it to the meeting, which 
is true } Which does it vote for, the Holy Bible and 
witchcraft, or Mr. Lecturer and his new-fangled non- 
sense } Those in favor of Scripter and witches hold 
up their hands." 

Need I say that witchcraft carried the day .-• 

One of Mr. Hawker's parishioners had an encounter 
with pixies. Pixies, it must be explained, are elves, 
who dance on the sward and make fairy -rings ; others 
work in mines ; others, again, haunt old houses. 

This man had been to Stratton market. On his 
way home, as he was passing between dense hedges, 
suddenly he saw a light, and heard music and sing- 
ing. He stood still, and looked and listened. Pass- 
ing through the hedge, he saw the little people in a 
ring dancing ; and there sat on a toadstool an elf 
with a lantern in his hand, made of a campanula, out 
of which streamed a greenish-blue light. As the 
pixies danced, they sang. 



THE PIXIE REVEL. 1 73 

" Sir," — this is the man's own account, — "I 
looked and listened a while, and then I got quietly 
hold of a great big stone, and heaved it up, and I 
dreshed in amongst them all ; and then I up on my 
horse, and galloped away as hard as I could, and 
never drew rein till I came home to Morwenstow. 
But, when the stone fell among them all, out went 
the light. You don't believe me? But it be true, 
true as gospel ; for next day I went back to the 
spot, and there lay the stone, just where I had 
dreshed it." 

I have got a curious oil-painting in Lew Trenchard 
House, dating from the reign of William and Mary 
as I judge by the costume. It represents a pixie 
revel. In the background is an elfin city, illumined 
by the moon. Before the gates is a ring of tiny 
beings, dancing merrily around what is probably a 
corpse-candle : it is a candle-stump, standing on the 
ground, and the flame diffuses a pallid white light. 

In the foreground is water, on which floats a 
pumpkin, with a quarter cut out of it, so as to turn 
it into a boat with a hood. In this the pixie king 
and his consort are enthroned, while round the sides 
of the boat sit the court, dressed in the costume of 
the period of William of Orange. On the hood sits 
a little elf, with a red toadstool, as an umbrella, over 
the heads of the king and queen. In the bow sits 
Jack-o'-lantern, with a cresset in his hands, dressed 
in a red jacket. Beside him is an elf playing on a 
Jew's-harp, which is as large as himself ; and another 
mischievous red-coated sprite is touching the vibrat- 
ing tongue of the harp with a large extinguisher, so 
as to stop the music. 



174 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

The water all round the royal barge is full of little 
old women and red-jacketed hobgoblins in egg-shells 
and crab-shells ; whilst some of the pixies, who have 
been making a ladder of an iron boat-chain, have 
missed their footing, and are splashing about in the 
water. In another part of the picture the sprites 
appear to be illuminating the window of a crumbling 
tower. 

Mr. Hawker had a curious superstition about 
fairy-rings. There was one on the cliff. Some years 

ago he was visited by Lady , who drove over 

from Bude. As he walked with her on the sward, 
they came to the ring in the grass ; and she was about 
to step into it, when he arrested her abruptly, and 
said, " Beware how you set foot within a fairy-ring : 
it will bring ill luck." 

" Oh, nonsense, Mr. Hawker ! the circle is made 
by toadstools. See, here is one : I will pick it." 

*'If you do, there will be shortly a death in your 
house." 

She neglected the warning, and picked one of the 
fairy champignons. 

Within a week a little daughter died. 

Another similar coincidence confirmed him in his 
belief. The curate of Bridgerule and his wife came 
to see him, and much the same scene took place. 
The curate, in spite of his warning, kicked over a 
toadstool in the ring, and handed it to his wife. 

Ten days after, Mr. Hawker got a heart-broken 
letter from the wife, an Irish lady, in which she said, 
" Oh, why did we neglect your prophecy ! why did 
we give no heed to your word ! When we returned 



ANTONY CLEVERDON. 1 75 

to Bridgerule, our little Mary sickened ; and now we 
have just laid her in her grave." 

He was staying with a friend. Suddenly the table 
gave a crack. Mr. Hawker started, and, laying his 
hand on the table, said, " Mark my words, there has 
been a death in my family." 

By next post came news of the death of one of the 
Miss I'ans. 

At Wellcombe was an old man, Antony Cleverdon, 
frpm whom Mr. Hawker learned many charms, some 
of which he has given in his " Footprints of Former 
Men." This old man, commonly called Uncle Tony, 
was a source of great amusement to the vicar, who 
delighted to visit and converse with him. 

"Sir," said Uncle Tony to him one day, "there is 
one thing I want to ask you, if I may be so free, and 
it is this : Why should a merrymaid [the local name 
for mermaid], that will ride upon the waters in such 
terrible storms, never lose her looking-glass and 
comb .■* " 

"Well, I suppose," answered the vicar, "that, if 
there are such creatures, Tony, they must wear their 
looking-glasses and combs fastened on somehow, — 
like fins to a fish." 

" See ! " said Tony, chuckling with delight, "what 
a thing it is to know the Scriptures like your rev- 
erence : I never should have found it out. But 
there's another point, sir, I should like to know, if 
you please : I've been bothered about it in my mind 
hundreds of times. Here be I, that have gone up 
and down Wellcombe cliffs and streams fifty years 
come next Candlemas, and I've gone and watched 



176 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

the water by moonlight and sunhght, days and nights, 
on purpose, in rough weather and smooth (even Sun- 
days too, saving your presence), — and my sight as 
good as most men's, — and yet I never could come 
to see a merrymaid in all my life ! How's that, 
sir?" 

"Are you sure, Tony," the vicar rejoined, "that 
there are such things in existence at all ? " 

" Oh, sir, my old father seen her twice ! He was 
out once by night for wreck (my father watched the 
coast like many of the old people formerly) ; and it 
came to pass that he was down by the Duck Pool on 
the sand at low-water tide, and all at once he heard 
music in the sea. Well, he croped on behind a rock, 
like a coast-guard man watching a boat, and got very 
near the noise. He couldn't make out the words, 
but the sound was exactly like Bill Martin's voice 
that singed second counter in church : at last he got 
very near, and there was the merrymaid very plain 
to be seen, swimming about on the waves like a wo- 
man bathing, and singing away. But my father said 
it was very sad and solemn to hear, — more like the 
tune of a funeral hymn than a Christmas carol, by 
far, — but it was so sweet that it was as much as he 
could do to hold back from plunging into the tide 
after her. And he an old man of sixty-seven, with 
a wife and a houseful of children at home ! The 
second time was down here by Wellcombe Pits. He 
had been looking out for spars : there was a ship 
breaking up in the Channel, and he saw some one 
move just at half -tide mark. So he went on very 
softly, step and step, till he got nigh the place ; and 



ANTONY AND THE MERMAIDS. 177 

there was the merrymaid sitting on a rock, — the 
bootifuUest merrymaid that eye could behold, — and 
she was twisting about her long hair, and dressing 
it just like one of our girls getting ready for her 
sweetheart on a Sunday. The old man made sure 
he should greep hold of her round the waist, before 
ever she found him out ; and he had got so near, that 
a couple of paces more, and he would have caught 
her, as sure as tithe or tax, when, lo and behold, she 
looked back and glimpsed him ! So in one moment 
she dived head foremost off the rock, and then 
tumbled herself topsy-turvy about in the water, and 
cast a look at my poor father, and grinned like a 
seal ! " 



178 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 



CHAPTER VII. 

Condition of the Church last Century. — Parson Radcliffe. — The Death of a 
Pluralist. — Opposition Mr. Hawker met with. — The Bryanites. — Hunt- 
ing the Devil. — Bill Martin's Prayer-meeting. — Mr. Pengelly and the 
Candle-end. — Cheated by a Tramp. — Mr. Hawker and the Dissenters. — 

Mr. B 's Pew. — A Special Providence over the Church. — His Prayer 

when threatened with the Loss of St. John's Well. — Objection to Hysteri- 
cal Religion. — Mr. Vincent's Hat. — Regard felt for him by old Pupils. — 
" He did not appreciate me." — Modryb Marya. — A Parable. — A Carol. 
— Love of Children. — Angels. — A Sermon, " Here am I." 

The condition of the Church in the diocese of 
Exeter at the time when John Wesley appeared was 
piteous in the extreme. Non-residence was the rule : 
the services of the sanctuary were performed in the 
most slovenly manner, the sacraments were adminis- 
tered rarely and without due reverence in too many 
places, and pastoral visitation was neglected. The 
same state of things continued, only slightly im- 
proved, to the time when Mr, Hawker began his 
ministrations at Morwenstow. 

There was a story told of a fox-hunting parson, Mr. 
Radcliffe, in the north of Devon, when I was a boy. 
He was fond of having convivial evenings in his par- 
sonage, which often ended uproariously. 

Bishop Phillpotts sent for him, and said, "Mr. 
Radcliffe, I hear, but I can hardly believe it, that 
men fight in your house." 



PARSON RADCLIFFE. 1 79 

" Lor, my dear," answered Parson Radcliffe, in 
broad Devonshire, " doant'y believe it. When they 
begin fighting, I take and turn them out into the 
churchyard." 

The bishop of Exeter came one day to visit him 
without notice. Parson Radcliffe, in scarlet, was just 
about to mount his horse, and gallop off to the meet, 
when he heard that the bishop was in the village. 
He had barely time to send away his hunter, run up- 
stairs, and jump, red coat and boots, into bed, when 
the bishop's carriage drew up at the door. 

"Tell his lordship I'm ill, will ye.^" was his in- 
junction to his housekeeper, as he flew to bed, 

"Is Mr, Radcliffe in?" asked Dr. Phillpotts. 

" He's ill in bed," said the housekeeper. 

" Dear me ! I am so sorry ! Pray ask if I may 
come up and sit with him," said the bishop. 

The housekeeper ran up-stairs in sore dismay, and 
entered Parson Radcliffe's room. The parson stealth- 
ily put his head out of the bedclothes, but was re- 
assured when he saw his room was invaded by his 
housekeeper, and not by the bishop. 

" Please your honor, his lordship wants to come 
up-stairs, and sit with you a little." 

" With me, good heavens ! " gasped Parson Rad- 
cliffe. "No. Go down, and tell his lordship I'm took 
cruel bad with scarlet-fever : it is an aggravated case, 
and very catching." 

In the neighborhood of Morwenstow, a little before 
Mr. Hawker's time, was a certain Parson Winterton.* 
He was rector of Eastcote, rector of Eigncombe, 
rector of Marwood, rector of Westcote, and vicar of 



l8o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Barton. Mr. Hawker used to tell the following 
story : — 

When Parson Winterton lay on his death-bed, he 
was visited and prepared for dying by a neighboring 
clergyman. 

" What account can you render for the talents 
committed to your charge } What use have you 
made of them .'' " asked the visitor, 

" Use of my talents } " repeated the dying man. 
And then, thrusting his hands out from under the 
bedclothes, he said, " I came into this diocese with 
nothing, — yes, with nothing, — and now," and he 
began to check off the names on the fingers of the 
left hand with the forefinger of the right hand, " I 
am rector of Eigncombe, worth eighty pounds ; rector 
of Marwood, worth four hundred and fifty pounds ; 
rector of Westcote, worth five hundred and sixty 
pounds ; vicar of Barton, worth three hundred pounds ; 
and rector of Eastcote, worth a thousand pounds. If 
that is not making use of one's talents, I do not know 
what is. I think I can die in peace." 

Morwenstow, as has been already said, had been 
without a resident vicar for a century before Mr. 
Hawker came there. When he arrived, it was with 
his great heart overflowing with love, and burning to 
do good to the souls and bodies of his people. He 
was about the parish all day on his pony, visiting 
every one of his flock, taking vehement interest in 
all their concerns, and doing every thing he could 
think of to win their hearts. 

But two centuries of neglect by the Church was 
not to be remedied in a generation. Mr. Hawker was 



OPPOSITION HE MET WITH. i8l 

surprised that he could not do it in a twelvemonth. 
He was met with coldness and hostility by most of 
the farmers, who were, with one or two exceptions, 
Wesleyans or Bible Christians. The autocrat of the 
neighborhood was an agent for the principal land- 
owner of the district, and he held the people under 
his thumb. With him the vicar speedily quarrelled : 
their characters were as opposed as the poles, and it 
was impossible that they could work together. Mr. 
Hawker thought — rightly or wrongly, who shall 
decide .'' — that this man thwarted him at every turn, 
and urged on the farmers to oppose and upset all his 
schemes for benefiting the parish, spiritually and tem- 
porally. Mutual antipathy caused recriminations, 
and the hostility became open. The agent thought 
he had dealt the vicar a severe blow when he per- 
suaded Sir J. Buller to claim St. John's Well Mr. 
Hawker found himself baffled by the coldness of the 
Dissenters, and the hostility of the agent, which he 
had probably brought upon himself ; and it struck a 
chill to his heart, and saddened it. 

The vicar was, however, not blameless in the matter. 
He expected all opposition to melt away before his 
will ; and if a parishioner, or any one else with whom 
he had dealings, did not prove malleable, and submit 
to be turned in his hands like a piece of wax, he had 
no patience with him. He could not argue, but he 
could make assertions with the force and vehemence 
which tell with some people as arguments. 

The warmth with which Mr. Hawker took up the 
cause of the laborers, his denunciation of the truck- 
system, and the forcible way in which he protested 



1 82 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

against the lowness of the wage paid the men, con- 
duced, no doubt, to set the farmers against him. But 
he was the idol of the workmen. Their admiration 
and respect for him knew no bounds. " If all gen- 
tlemen were like our vicar," was the common saying, 
" the world would have no wrongs in it." 

When Mr. Hawker's noble face was clouded with 
trouble, as he talked over the way in which he had 
been thwarted at every turn by the agent and the 
farmers, if a word were said about the poor, the 
clouds cleared from his brow, his face brightened at 
once : " * The poor have ye always with you,' said 
our Lord, and the word is true, — is true." 

In a letter written in 1864 to a former curate of 
Wellcombe, now an incumbent in Essex, he says, — 

" The only parish of which I can report favorably is my own 
cure of Wellcombe. Morwenstow is, as it always was, Wesleyan 
to the backbone ; but at Wellcombe the church attendance is 
remarkable. The same people are faithful and constant as 
worshippers, and the communicants from two hundred and four 
souls are fourteen. When any neighboring clergymen has offici- 
ated for me, he is struck with the number and conduct of the 
congregation. The rector of Kilkhampton often declares Well- 
combe to be the wonder of the district. This is to me a great 
compensation for the unkindly Church feeling of Morwenstow." 

The opposition of the Wesleyans and Bryanites 
caused much bitterness, and he could not speak with 
justice and charity of John Wesley. He knew noth- 
ing of the greatness, holiness, and zeal of that apos- 
tolic man : he did not consider how dead the Church 
was when he appeared and preached to the people. 
When he was reproached for his harsh speeches about 



THE BRYANITES. 1 83 

Wesley, his ready answer was, " I judge of him by 
the deeds of his followers," 

One of his sayings was, "John Wesley came into 
Cornwall, and persuaded the people to change their 
vices." Once, when the real greatness of Wesley 
was being pressed upon him, he said sharply, " Tell 
me about Wesley when you can give me his present 
address." 

If this vehement prejudice seems unjust and un- 
christian, it must be remembered that Mr. Hawker 
had met with great provocation. But it was not this 
provocation which angered him against Methodists 
and Bryanites, for he was a man of large though 
capricious charity : that which cut him to the quick 
was the sense that Cornish Methodism was demor- 
alizing the people. Wesleyanism was not so much 
to blame as Bryanism. The Bible Christians, Bryan- 
ites, or Thornites, as they are variously called, are 
apparently a survival of some of those Antinomian 
sects which disturbed the primitive Church, under 
the name of Valentinians and Markosites, and which 
lingered on in Europe during the Middle Ages, and 
broke out into full flagrance at the Reformation. A 
curious picture of them at that time is presented by 
Edwardes's " Gangrena." They reached their head 
abroad in the obscenities and violence of the Munster 
Anabaptists. 

The Cornish Bryanites profess entire freedom from 
obligation to keep the law, and the complete emanci- 
pation from irksome moral restraint of those who are 
children of God, made so by free grace and a saving 
faith. One of their preachers was a man of unblush- 



1 84 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

ingly profligate life : the details of his career will 
not bear relation. Mr. Hawker used to mention 
some scandalous acts of his to his co-religionists, but 
always received the cool reply, " Ah ! maybe ; but 
after all he is a sweet Christian.^' 

A favorite performance in a Bryanite meeting, ac- 
cording to popular report, is to " hunt the Devil out." 
The preacher having worked the people up into a 
great state of excitement, they are provided with 
sticks, and the lights are extinguished. A general 
mel^e ensues. Every one who hits, thinks he is 
dealing the Devil his death-blow ; and every one who 
receives a blow, believes it is a butt from the Devil's 
horns. 

Mr. Hawker had a capital story of one of these 
meetings. 

The preacher had excited the people to a wild con- 
dition by assuring them he saw the Devil in person — 
there ! there ! there ! 

"Where, where is he.'*" screamed some of the 
people, 

"Shall I hit 'un down with my umbrella?" asked 
a farmer. 

" He'll burn a great hole in it if ye do," said his 
wife ; "and I reck'n he won't find you another." 

Sticks were flourished, and all rushed yelling from 
their pews. 

" Where is he .-* " " Let us catch a glimpse of the 
end of his tail, and we'll pin him." 

The shouting and the uproar became great. 

" I see 'un, I see 'un ! " shouted the preacher; and, 
pointing to the door, he yelled, " He is there ! " 



BILL MARTIN'S MEETING. 1 85 

At that very moment the door of the Bryanite 
meeting-house was thrown open, and there stood 

R , the dreaded steward of Lord , with his 

gray mare. He had been riding by, and, astonished 
at the noise, had dismounted, and opened the door to 
learn what occasioned it. 

I give the account of a private Bible Christian 
meeting from the narrative of an old Cornish woman 
of Kilkhampton, 

" Some thirty or more years agone, Long Bill 
Martin was converted, and became a very serious 
character in Kilkhampton ; and a great change that 
was for Bill. Prayer-meetings were now his delight, 
especially if young women was present, — then he 
did warm up, I tell'y. He could preach, he could, 
just a word or two at a time ; and then, when he 
couldn't find words, he'd roar. He was a mighty 
comfortin* preacher too, especially to the maidens. 
Many was the prayer-meeting which he kept alive; 
and if things was going flat — for gospel ministers du 
go flat sometimes, tell'y, just like ginger-beer bottles 
if the cork's out tu often. And, let me tell'y, talkin' 
of that, there comed a Harchdeacon here one day : I 
seed 'un, and he had strings tied about his hat, just 
as they du corks of lemonade, to keep the spirit in 
him down ; he was nat'rally very uppish, I reck'n. 
But to go back to Bill. When he couldn't speak, 
why, then he'd howl, like no sucking dove, ' Ugh ! the 
Devil ! drive the Devil ! ' Yu could hear him hunting 
the Devil of nights a hundred yards or more off from 
the cottage where he was leading prayer. One day 
he settled to have a meeting down near the end of 



1 86 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

the village, and sent in next door to borrow a form 
(not a form of prayer, yu know, for he didn't hold to 
that), and invited the neighbors to join. 'You'd 
better come. We'm goin' to have a smart meetin' 
t'night, can tell'y.' 

"So us went in, and they set to to pray : fust won 
and then another was called upon to pray. ' Sister, 
you pray.' 'Brother Rhicher (Richard), you pray.' 
So to last Rhicher Davey, he beginned : ' My old 
woman,' sez he, 'she's hoffal bad in her temper, and 
han't got no saving grace in her, not so much as ye 
might put on the tail of a flea,' sez he; 'but we 
hopps for better things, and I prays for improve- 
ment,' he went on; 'and if improvement don't come 
to her, why, improvement might come to me, by her 
bein' taken where the wicked cease from troubling, 
and so leave weary me at rest.' Then I began to 
laugh ; but Long Bill, he ketched me up, and roared, 
' Pray like blazes, Nanny Gilbert, do'y ! ' So I kep 
my eye fixed to her, and luked at her hard and stead- 
fast, I did, for I knew what the latter hupshot 
would be with her; and her beginned, 'We worms 
of hearth ! ' and there her ended. So we waited a 
bit ; and then Bill Martin says, ' Squeedge it hout, 
Nanny, squeedge it hout ! ' But it were all no good. 
Never another word could she utter, though I saw 
she was as red as a beet-root with squeedging. She 
groaned, but no words. Then out comed old Bill, — 
Long Bill us called 'un, but Bill Martin was his 
rightful name, — ' Let us pray, my friends,' he sez. 
' Honly believe,' he sez. ' Drive the Devil,' he roars. 
' There he is ! There he is ! ' he sez. ' Do'y not see 



BILL MARTIN'S MEETING. 187 

un ! Do'y not smell un ? ' — ' It's the cabbidge,' sez 
Nanny Gilbert : ' there's some, and turnips tu, and a 
bit of bacon, biling in the pot over the turves.' For 
her was a little put out at not being able to pray. It 
was her cottage in which the prayer-meeting was 
being held, yu know. Well, Long Bill didn't stomach 
the cabbidge ; so he roars louder than afore, ' Faith ! 
my friends ; have faith ! and then yu can see and 
smell the Devil.' — * If it's the cabbidge yu mean,' 
sez Nanny, 'I can smell 'un by my nat'ral faculties.' 
— ' There's the Devil ! ' shouts Bill Martin, growing 
excited. ' Ugh ! drive the hold Devil ! Faith ! my 
friends, have faith, hell-shaking faith, conquering 
faith. Devil-driving faith, a damned lot of faith!' 
And then he roars, ' There he is ! I can zee 'un a- 
fluttering hover your heads, ye sinners, just like my 
hands' a-fluttering over the cann'l ! ' 

" So I titched her as was next me ; and I sez, 
' Where is 'un ? I doan't see 'un, d'yu }' — ' Yer 
ha'nt got faith,' sez she. 'But I can feel 'un just as 
if he was a-crigglin' and a-crawlin' in my head where 
the partin' is.' 

"Well, just then, — and I'm sure I can't tell yu 
whether it happened afore Bill Martin speaked, or 
after, — but he roars out, ' I see 'un ! he's flowed up 
the chimley ! ' And just then — as I sed, I cannot say 
whether it was afore he speaked, or after — down 
came a pailful of soot right into the midst of old 
Nanny's pot of cabbage and turnips. 

" Well, I tell'y, when old Nanny Gilbert seed that, 
her was as mad as Parson Hawker during a wreck. 
She ups off her chair, and runs first to the pot, and 



l88 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

looks what's done there; and then she flies to Bill 
Martin, — Long Bill, yu know, — and ketches him by 
the ear, and drags him forward to the pot, and sez, 
flaming like a bit of fuzz, ' Yer let the Devil loose out 
of your own breast, and sent 'um flittering up my 
chimley, the wiper ! and he's smutted all my supper, 
as was biling for me and my old man and the childer. 
And I'll tell'y what, if yu don't bring your Devil down 
by his tail, that I may rub his nose in it, I'll dip yours, 
I will' 

" Well, yu may believe me. Bill tremmled as a 
blank-mange, — that's a sort of jelly stuff I seed one 
day in a gentleman's house to Bude, when the servant 
was carrying it in to dinner : it shooked all hover 
like. For I tell'y, a woman as has had her biling of 
cabbage and turnips spoiled, especial if there be a 
taste of bacon in it, ain't to be preached peaceable. 

"After that I can't tell'y 'xactly what took place. 
We wimin set up screaming, and scuffled about like 
bats in the light. But I seed Nanny giving Long 
Bill a sort of a chuck with one hand where his coat- 
tails would have grown, only he didn't wear a coat, 
only a jacket. P'raps, though, yu know, he'd nibbled 
em off like the monkey as Parson Davies keeped in 
the stable for his childer. That monkey had the 
beautifullest tail — after a peacock — when first he 
came to Kilkhampton ; but he bit it off in little por- 
tions. And then, poor thing, at last he got himself 
into a sort of tangle or slip-knot in twisting himself 
about to bite right off the last fag-end of stump. 
And when Ezekiel — that's the groom — comed in of 
the morning with his bread and milk, the poor beast 



MR. PENGELLY AND THE DEVIL. 189 

Stretched his head out with a jerk to get his meat, 
and forgot he had knotted himself up with his own 
body, and so got strangled in himself. Well, but I 
was telling yu about Bill Martin, and not Parson 
Davies's monkey. So after that his nose was a queer 
sort of mixture of scald-red and black. He was 
never very partial to water, was Bill ; and so the scald 
and smut stuck there, maybe one year, maybe two. 
But all this happened so long ago, that I couldn't take 
my Bible oath that it wasn't more — say three, then : 
odd numbers is lucky." 

Mr. Hawker had a story of a Wellcombe woman 
whom he visited after the loss of her husband. 

" Ah ! thank the Lord," said she, " my old man is 
safe in Beelzebub's bosom." 

" Abraham's bosom, my good woman," said the 
vicar. 

" Ah ! I dare say. I am not acquainted with the 
quality, and so don't rightly know their names." 

While on the subject of the Devil, I cannot omit a 
story told of a certain close-fisted Cornish man, whom 
we will call Mr. Pengelly, as he is still alive. The 
story lost nothing in the vicar's mouth. 

Mr. Pengelly was very ill, and like to die. So one 
night the Devil came to the side of his bed, and said 
to him, " Mr. Pengelly, I will trouble yu, if you 
please." 

" Yu will trouble me with what, your honor } " says 
Mr. Pengelly, sitting up in bed. 

"Why, just to step along of me, sir," says the 
Devil. 

" Oh ! but I don't please at all," replies Mr. Pen- 



I90 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

gelly, lying down again, and tucking his pillow under 
his cheek, 

" Well, sir, but time's up, yu know," was the remark 
the Devil made thereupon ; " and whether it pleases 
yu, or no, yu must come along of me to once, sir. It 
isn't much of a distance to speak of from Morwen- 
stow," says he, by way of apology. 

"If I must go, sir," says Mr. Pengelly, wiping his 
nose with his blue pocket-handkerchief covered with 
white spots, and R. P. marked in the corner in red 
cotton, " why, then, I suppose yu ain't in a great 
hurry. Yu'll give me ten minutes .'' " 

"What do'y want ten minutes for, Mr. Pengelly ?" 
asks the Devil. 

" Why, sir," says Mr. Pengelly, putting his blue 
pocket-handkerchief over his face, " I'm ashamed to 
name it, but I shud like to say my prayers. Least- 
wise, they couldn't du no harm," exclaimed he, pull- 
ing the handkerchief off, and looking out. 

" They wouldn't du yer no gude, Mr. Pengelly," 
says the Devil. 

" I shu'd be more comfable in my mind, sir, if I 
said 'em," says he. 

" Now, I'll tell yu what, Mr. Pengelly," says the 
Devil, after a pause, " I'd like to deal handsome by 
yu. Yu've done me many a gude turn in your day. 
I'll let you live as long as yonder cann'1-end burns." 

" Thank'y kindly, sir," says Mr. Pengelly. And 
presently he says, for the Devil did not make signs 
of departing, " Would yu be so civil as just tu step 
into t'other room, sir } I'd take it civil. I can't pray 
comfably with yu here, sir." 



MH. PENGELLY AND THE DEVIL. 191 

" I'll oblige yu in that too," said the Devil ; and he 
went out to look after Mrs. Pengelly. 

No sooner was his back turned, than Mr. Pengelly 
jumped out of bed, extinguished the candle-end, 
clapped it in the candle-box, and put the candle-box 
under his bed. Presently the Devil came in, and 
said, " Now, Mr. Pengelly, yu're all in the dark : I 
see the cann'l's burnt out, so yu must come with me." 

" I'm not so much in the dark as yu, sir," says the 
sick man, "for the cann'l's not burnt out, and isn't 
like to. He's safe in the cann'1-box. And I'll send 
for yu, sir, when I want yu." 

Mr. Pengelly is still alive ; but let not the visitor to 
his farm ask him what he keeps in his candle-box, or, 
old man of seventy -eight though he is, he will jump 
out of his chair, and lay his stick across the shoulders 
of his interrogator. "They du say," said my inform- 
ant, " that Mrs. Pengelly has tried a score of times 
to get hold of the cann'1-end, and burn it out ; but 
the master is tu sharp for his missus, and keeps it 
as tight from her as he does from the Devil." 

Mr. Pengelly has the credit of having been only 
once in his life cheated, and that was by a tramp, in 
this wise : — 

One day a man in tatters, and with his shoes in 
fragments, came to his door, and asked for work. 

" I like work," says the man, "I love it. Try me." 

" If that's the case," says Mr. Pengelly, " yu may 
dig my garden for me, and I will give yu one shilling 
and twopence a day." Wages were then eighteen 
pence, or one and eightpence. 

" Done ! " says the man. 



192 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

So he was given a spade, and he worked capitally. 
Mr. Pengelly watched him from his windows from 
behind a wall, and the man never left off work except 
to spit on his hands ; that was his only relaxation, 
and he did not do that over-often. 

Mr. Pengelly was mighty pleased with his work- 
man : he sent him to sleep in the barn, and paid him 
his day's wage that he might buy himself a bit of 
bread. 

Next morning Mr. Pengelly was up with the lark. 
But the workman was up before Mr. Pengelly or the 
lark either, and was digging diligently in the garden. 

Mr. Pengelly was more and more pleased with his 
man. He went to him during the morning ; then 
the fellow stuck his spade into the ground, and said, 
" I'll tell yu what it is, sir, I like work ! I love it ! but 
I cannot dig without butes or shoes. Yu may look : 
I've no soles to my feet, and the spade nigh cuts 
through them." 

" Yu must get a pair of shoes," said Mr. Pengelly. 

" That's just it," says the man ; " but no boot-maker 
will trust me ; and I cannot pay down, for I haven't 
the money, sir." 

" What would a pair of shoes cost, now .-* " asks 
his employer, looking at the man's feet wholly devoid 
of leather soles. 

" Fefteen shilling, maybe," says he. 

"Fefteen shilling! " exclaims Mr. Pengelly: "yu'll 
never get that to pay him." * 

"Then I must go to some other farmer who'll ad- 
vance me the money," says the man. 

" Now don't'y be in no hurry," says Mr. Pengelly, 



MR. PENGELLY IS CHEATED. 193 

in a fright lest he should lose a man worth half a 
crown a day by his work. " Suppose I were to let'y 
have five shilling. Then yu might go to Stratton, 
and pay that, and in five days yu would have worked 
it out, keeping twopence a day for your meat ; and 
that will do nicely if yu're not dainty. Then I would 
let'y have another five shilling, till yu'd paid up," 

" Done," says the man. 

So Mr. Pengelly pulled the five shillings out, in 
two half-crown pieces, and gave them to the man. 

Directly he had the money in his hand, the fellow 
drove the spade into the ground, and, making for the 
gate, took off his hat, and said, " I wish yu a gude 
morning, Mr. Pengelly, and many thanks for the 
crown. Now I'm off to Taunton like a long dog." 
And like a lone dog he went off, and Mr. Pengelly 
never saw him or his two half-crowns again. So the 
man who cheated the Devil was cheated by a tramp : 
that shows how clever tramps are. 

But to return to the vicar of Morwenstow, and the 
Dissenters in his parish. Although very bitter in 
speech against Dissent, he was ready to do any kind- 
ness that lay in his power to a Dissenter. He took 
pains to instruct in Latin and Greek a young Meth- 
odist preparing for the Wesleyan ministry, and read 
with him diligently out of free good-nature. His 
pupil is now, I believe, a somewhat distinguished 
preacher in his connection. He was always ready to 
ask favors of their landlords for Dissenting farmers, 
and went out of his way to do them exceptional 
kindnesses. 

Some one rallied him with this : — 



194 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

"Why, Hawker, you are always getting comfortable 
berths for schismatics." 

" So one ought," was his ready reply. " I try my 
best to make them snug in this world, they will be 
so miserable in the next." 

He delighted in seeing persons of the most opposed 
religious or political views meet at his table. A Ro- 
man Catholic, an Independent minister, a Nothing- 
arian, and a High Anglican, were once lunching with 
him. 

"What an extraordinary thing, that you should 
have such discordant elements most harmoniously at 
your table ! " said a friend. 

" Clean and unclean beasts feeding together in the 
ark," was his reply. 

" But how odd that you should get them to meet ! " 

" Well, I thought it best : they never will meet in 
the next world." 

One day he visited the widow of a parishioner who 
was dead. As he entered, he met the Methodist 
preacher coming out of the room where the corpse 
lay. 

" When is poor Thomas to be buried } " asked the 
vicar. 

"We are going to take him out of the parish," 
answered the widow : " we thought you would not 
bury him, as he was a Dissenter." 

"Who told you that I would not.?" 

The widow lady looked at the Nonconformist min- 
ister. 

"Did you say so.?" he asked of the preacher, 
abruptly. 



DESPOTIC CONDUCT. 1 95 

"Well, sir, we thought, as you were so mighty 
particular, you would object to bury a Dissenter." 

"On the contrary," said the vicar, "do you not 
know that I should be but too happy to bury you 
all ? " 

He was highly incensed at Mr, Cowper Temple's 
bill for admitting Dissenters to the pulpits of the 
church. " What ! " said he, in wrath, " suffer a Dis- 
senting minister to invade our sacred precincts, to 
draw near to our pulpits and altars ! It is contrary 
to Scripture; for Scripture says, 'If a beast do but 
touch the mountain, let him be stoned, or thrust 
through with a dart.' " 

As an instance of despotic conduct towards a 
parishioner, it would be difficult to match the follow- 
ing incident : A wealthy yeoman of Morwenstow, Mr. 

B , was the owner of a tall pew, which stood like 

a huge sentry-box, in the nave of the church. Most 
of the other pew-owners had consented to the removal 
of the doors, curtains, and panelling which they had 
erected upon or in place of their old family seats to 
hide themselves from the vulgar gaze ; but no persua- 
sion of the vicar had any effect upon the stubborn 
Mr. B . The pew had been constructed and fur- 
nished with a view to comfort ; and, like the famous 

Derbyshire farmer, Mr. B could " vould his arms, 

shut his eyes, dra' out his legs, and think upon 
nothin'," therein, unnoticed by any one but the par- 
son. Moreover, Mr, B had, it was said, a faculty- 
right to the hideous enclosure. He was therefore 
invulnerable to all the coaxing, reasoning, threatening, 
and preaching which could be brought to bear upon 



196 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

him. Weeks after all the other pews had been swept 
away, he intrenched himself in his ecclesiastical for- 
tress, and looked defiance at the outside world. At 
last the vicar resolved to storm the enemy, and gave 
him due notice, that, on a certain day and hour, it was 

his intention to demolish the pew. Mr. B was 

present at the appointed time to defend his property, 
but was so taken aback at the sight of the vicar enter- 
ing the church armed with a large axe, that he stood 
dumbfounded with amazement, whilst, without utter- 
ing a word, the vicar strode up to the pew, and with 
a few lusty blows literally smashed it to pieces, and 
then flung the fragments outside the church door. 

To the credit of Mr. B , he still continued to 

attend church ; but he took on one occasion an un- 
seasonable opportunity of rebuking the vicar for his 
violence. It was on the parish feast day, or "revel" 
as the inhabitants of the parish called it ; and, as was 
his wont, the vicar was expatiating in the pulpit on 
the antiquity of the church, and how the shrine of 
St. Morwenna had been preserved unchanged whilst 
dynasties had perished, and empires had been over- 
thrown. Whereupon Mr. B exclaimed in a voice 

of thunder, " No such thing : you knocked down my 
pew ! " The vicar, however, was still more than a 
match for him. Without the least embarrassment, 
he turned from St. Morwenna to the parable of the 
rich man and Lazarus, and, in describing the life and 
character of Dives, drew such a vivid portrait of Mr. 

B , that the poor man rushed out of church when 

the preacher began to consign him to his place of 
torment. 



SPECIAL PROVIDENCE OVER THE CHURCH. 197 

The impression was strong upon him, that he and 
the Church were under special Divine protection, and 
he would insist that no misfortune ever befell his cows 
or sheep. When, however, after some year^ he was 
unlucky, he looked on every stroke of misfortune as 
an assault of Satan himself, allowed to try him as he 
had tried Job. 

This belief that he had, of a special Providence 
watching over him, must explain the somewhat pain- 
ful feature of his looking out for the ruin of those 
who wrought evil against the Church. He bore them 
no malice ; but he looked upon such wrongs done as 
done to God, and as sure to be avenged by him. 
He had always a text at hand to support his view. 
"I have no personal enemies," he would say, "but 
Uzziah cannot put his hand to the ark without the 
Lord making a breach upon him." 

He was perfectly convinced that the Church was 
God's kingdom. " No weapon formed against thee 
shall prosper," he said : " that was a promise made by 
God to the Church, and God does not forget his 
promises. Why, I have seen his promise kept again 
and again. I know that God is no liar." 

" But look at the hostility to the Church in Mr. 

M , what efforts he has made in Parliament, and 

throughout the country, agitating men's minds, and 
all for the purpose of overthrowing the Church. He 
prospers." 

" My friend," said the vicar, pausing, and laying 
his hand solemnly on his companion's arm, " God 
does not always pay wages on .Saturday night." 

When an attempt was made in 1843 to wrest the 



198 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

well of St. John from him, he went thrice a day, 
every day during that Lent, whilst the case was being 
tried, till March 27, and offered up before the altar 
the following prayer : — 

" Almighty and most merciful God ! the Protector of all 
that trust in thee ! We most humbly beseech thee that thou 
wouldest be pleased to stretch forth thy right hand to rescue 
and defend the possessions of this thy sanctuary from the envy 
and violence of wicked and covetous men. Let not an adver- 
sary despoil thine inheritance, neither suffer thou the evil man 
to approach the waters that flow softly for thy blessed baptism, 
from the well of thy servant St. John. 

" And, O almighty Lord, even as thou didst avenge the 
cause of Naboth the Jezreelite, upon angry Ahab and Jezebel 
his wife ; and as thou didst strengthen the hands of thy blessed 
apostle St. Peter, insomuch that Ananias and Sapphira could 
not escape just judgment when they sought to keep back a part 
of the possession from thy Church : even so now, O Lord God, 
shield and succor the heritage of thy holy shrine ! Show some 
token upon us for good, that they who see it may say, ' This 
hath God done.' Be thou our hope and fortress, O Lord, our 
castle and deliverer, as in the days of old, such as our fathers 
have told us. Show forth thy strength unto thy generation, and 
thy power unto them that are yet for to come. So shall we daily 
perform our vows, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen." 

The attempt to deprive him of the well of St John 
signally failed. 

" They dreamed not in old Hebron, when the sound 
Went through the city, that the promised son 
Was born to Zachary, and his name was John, — 

They little thought that here, in this far ground 
Beside the Severn Sea, that Hebrew child 
Would be a cherished memory of the wild ! — 

Here, where the pulses of the ocean bound 



BELIEF IN MODERN MIRACLES, 199 

Whole centuries away, while one meek cell, 

Built by the fathers o'er a lonely well, 
Still breathes the Baptist's sweet remembrance round. 

A spring of silent waters with his name, 

That from the angel's voice in music came, 
Here in the wilderness so faithful found, 
It freshens to this day the Levite's grassy mound." 

MoRWENSTOW, Sept. 20, 1850. My dear Mrs. M , — 

... I have but a sullen prospect of wintertide. I had longed 
to go on with another window. But my fate, which in matters 
of /. s. d. is always mournful, paralyzes my will. A west win- 
dow in my tower is offered me by Warrington for the cost of 
carriage and putting together. But — but — but. Fifteen years 
I have been vicar of this altar ; and all that while no lay person, 
landlord, tenant, parishioner, or steward, has ever proffered me 
even one kind word, much less aid or coin. Nay, I have found 
them all bristling with dislike. All the great men have been 
hostile to me in word or deed. Yet I thank my Master and his 
angels, I have accomplished in and around my church a thou- 
sand times more than the great befriended clergy of this dean- 
ery. Not one thing has failed. When I lack aid to fulfil, I go 
to the altar, and ask it. Is it conceded ? So fearfully that I 
shudder with thanksgiving. A person threatened me with 
injury on a fixed day. I besought rescue. On that very day 
that person died. A false and treacherous clergyman came to 
a parish close by. I shook with dread. I asked help. It came. 
He entered my house five days afterwards to announce some 
malady unaccountable to him. He went. It grew. He re- 
signed his cure last week. 

And these are two only out of forty miracles. 

Yours faithfully, R. S. Hawker. 

It is painful to record this side of the vicar's char- 
acter ; but without it this would be but an imperfect 
sketch. He was, it must be borne in mind, an 
anachronism. He did not belong to this century or 



200 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

this country. His mind and character pertained to 
the Middle Ages and to the East. 

He is not to be measured by any standard used for 
men of our times. 

MoRWENSTOW, July 24, 1857. My dear Mrs. M , — All 

my pets are dead, and I cannot endure my lonely lawn. I want 

some ewe lamb, " to be unto me a daughter." T is a parish 

famous for sheep : are there any true Church farmers among 

the sheep-masters, to whom, with Dr. C 's introduction, I 

could write, in order to attain the animals I seek ? I want to 
find a man, or men, who would deal honestly and sincerely by 
me, and in whom I could trust. Will you ask your father if he 
would have the kindness to instruct me hereon ? I want soft- 
eyed, well-bred sheep, the animal which was moulded in the 
mind of God the Trinity, to typify the Lamb of Calvary. 

Yours always, R. S, Hawker. 

He had the greatest objection to hysterical reli- 
gion. "Conversion," he said, "is a spasm of the 
ganglions." "Free justification," was another of his 
sayings, "is a bankrupt's certificate, whitewashing 
him, and licensing him to swindle and thrive again." 

"There was a young Wesleyan woman at Shop" 
(this is one of his stories), " who was ill ; and her 
aunt, a trusty old Churchwoman, was nursing her. 
The sick woman's breast was somewhat agitated, and 
rumblings therein were audible. 'Aunt,' said she, 
* do you hear and see } There is the clear witness of 
the Spirit speaking within ! ' — * Lor', my dear,' an- 
swered the old woman, ' it's not that : you can get 
the better of it with three drops of peppermint on a 
bit of loaf-sugar.' " 

On the occasion of a noisy revival in the parish, 



MR. VINCENT'S HAT. 201 

he wrote the following verses, to describe what he 
believed to be the true signs of spiritual conversion, 
— very different from the screeching and hysterics of 
the revival which had taken place among his own 
people, the sad moral effect of which on the young 
women he learned by experience. 

" When the voice of God is thrilling, 

Breathe not a sound ; 
When the tearful eye is filling, 
• Breathe not a sound ; 

When the memory is pleading, 
And the better mind succeeding, 
When the stricken heart is bleeding, 
Breathe not a sound. 

When the broad road is forsaken. 

Breathe not a sound ; 

And the narrow path is taken. 

Breathe not a sound ; 

When the angels are descending. 

And the days of sin are ending, 

When heaven and earth are blending. 
Breathe not a sound." 

A Dissenter at Bude considered this sentiment so 
unsuited to evangelical religion, and so suitable for 
the dumb dogs of the Established Church, that he 
had it printed on a card, and distributed it among his 
co-religionists, in scorn, with a note of derision of his 
own appended. 

Mr. Hawker was walking one day on the cliffs near 
Morwenstow, with the Rev. W. Vincent,* when a 
gust of wind took off Mr. Vincent's hat, and carried 
it over the cliff. 



202 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Within a week or two a Methodist preacher at 
Truro was discoursing on prayer; and in his sermon 
he said, " I would not have you, dear brethren, con- 
fine your supplications to spiritual blessings, but ask 
also for temporal favors. I will illustrate my mean- 
ing by narrating an incident, a fact, that happened to 
myself ten days ago. I was on the shore of a cove 
hear a little, insignificant place in North Cornwall, 
named Morwenstow, and about to proceed to Bude. 
Shall I add, my Christian friends, that I had on my 
head at the time a shocking bad hat, and that I some- 
what blushed to think of entering that harbor, town, 
and watering-place, so ill-adorned as to my head .-' 
Then I lifted up my prayer to the Almighty, that He 
would pluck me out of the great strait in which I 
found myself, and clothe me suitably as to my head ; 
for he painteth the petals of the polyanthus, and 
colors the calyx of the coreopsis. At that solemn 
moment I raised my eyes to heaven ; and I saw, in 
the spacious firmament on high, the blue, ethereal 
sky, a black spot. It approached, it largened, it 
widened, it fell at my feet. It was a brand-new hat, 
by a distinguished London maker. I cast my bat- 
tered beaver to the waves, and walked into Bude as 
fast as I could, with the new hat on my head." 

The incident got into " The Methodist Reporter," 
or some such Wesleyan publication, under the head- 
ing of "Remarkable Answer to Prayer." "And," 
said the vicar, " the rascal made off with Vincent's 
new hat from Bennett's : there was no reaching him, 
for we were on the cliff, and could not descend the 
precipice. He was deaf enough, I promise you, to 
our shouts." 



APPRECIA TION. 203 

That Mr. Hawker was appreciated by some, the 
following note received by me will show: — 

Nov. 16, 1875. In the spring of this year, and consequently 
before there could have been any idea of " De mortuis," &c., I 
happened to find myself in company with two Morwenstow 
people, returning to their old home. One of them was a pros- 
perous-looking clerk or shopman from Manchester, the other a 
nice, modest-looking servant-girl. On recognizing each other, 
which they did not do at once, their talk naturally turned to old 
days. The Sunday school, Morwenstow, and its vicar were 
discussed ; and it was very remarkable to ste how lively was 
their remembrance of him, how much affection and reverence 
they entertained for him, how keen was their appreciation of 
the great qualities of his head and heart, and how much delight 
they testified in being able to see his honored face and white 
head, and hear the well-remembered tones of his voice once 
more. It may seem but a trivial incident; but, to those who 
know how constant is the complaint, and, indeed, how well 
founded, that our children, when they leave school, leave us 
altogether, such attestation to his work and influence is not 
without its value. I remain, &c., W. C . 

" Talking of appreciation,'' as Mr. Hawker said 

once, " the Scripture-reader, Mr. Bumpus,* at , 

came to me the other day, and said, ' Please, sir, I 
have been visiting and advising farmer Matthews, 
but he did not quite appreciate me. In fact, he 
kicked me down-stairs.' " 

Mr. Hawker could not endure to hear the apostles 
or evangelists spoken of by name without their proper 
prefix or title of "Saint." If he heard any one talk 
of Mark, or John, or Paul, he would say, "Look here. 
There was a professor at Oxford in my time who 
lectured on divinity. One day a pert student began 
to speak about 'Paul's opinion.' 'Paul's opinion, 



204 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

sir ! ' said the professor. ' Paul is not here to speak 
for himself; but if Paul were, and heard you talk 
thus disrespectfully of him, it is my belief that Paul 
would take you by the scruff of your neck, and chuck 
yon out of the window. As I have Paul in honor, if 
I hear you speak of him disrespectfully again, I will 
kick you out of the room.' " 

" Never boast," was a favorite saying of the vicar's. 
"The moment you boast, the Devil obtains power over 
you. You notice if it be not so. You say, ' I now 
never catch cold,' and within a week you have a- sore 
throat. ' I am always lucky in my money ventures ; ' 
and the next fails. As long as you do not boast, the 
Devil cannot touch you ; but, the moment you have 
boasted, virtue has gone from you, and he obtains 
power. Nebuchadnezzar was prosperous till he said, 
* Is not this great Babylon, that I have built for the 
house of the kingdom by the might of my power, and 
for the honor of my majesty.-*' It was while the 
word was in the king's mouth that the voice fell from 
heaven which took it frorn him." 

MORWENSTOW, Jan. 2, 1850. My dear Mrs. M , — I 

know not when I have been more shocked than by the sudden 
announcement of the death of good Bishop Coleridge. For 
good he verily and really was. What a word that is, "sud- 
denly " ! The Lord opened the eyes of the young man, and, 
behold, there were horses and chariots of fire round about 
Elisha. May God grant us Sir T. More's prayer, "that we 
may all meet and be merry in heaven "!...! am to do some- 
thing again for the new series of " Tracts for the Christian 
Seasons." Did you detect my " Magian Star," and " Nain, the 
lovely city " ? 

I hope to hear from you what is on in the out-world. Here 



A CHRISTMAS CHANT. 205 

within the ark we hear only the voices of animals and birds, and 
the sound of many waters. " The Lord shut him in." Give 

my real love to P , and say I will write her soon a letter, 

with a psalm about " her dear Aunt Mary." Yours faithfully, 

R. S. Hawker. 

The psalm came in due time, with this introduc- 
tion : — 

MODRYB MARYA: AUNT MARY. 

^ A CHRISTMAS CHANT. 

[In old and simple-hearted Cornwall, the household names " uncle " and 
"aunt " were uttered and used as they are to this day in many countries of the 
East, not only as phrases of kindred, but as words of kindly greeting and 
tender respect. It was in the spirit, therefore, of this touching and graphic 
usage, that they were wont, on the Tamar side, to call the Mother of God, in 
their loyal language, Modryb Marya ; or. Aunt Mary.] 

Now, of all the trees by the king's highway, 

Which do you love the best ? 
Oh ! the one that is green upon Christmas Day, 

The bush with the bleeding breast ! 
Now, the holly, with her drops of blood, for me ; 
For that is our dear Aunt Mary's tree ! 

Its leaves are sweet with our Saviour's name, 

'Tis a plant that loves the poor : 
Summer and winter it shines the same, 

Beside the cottage door. 
Oh ! the holly, with her drops of blood, for me ; 
For that is our kind Aunt Mary's tree ! 

'Tis a bush that the birds will never leave, 

They sing in it al' day long; 
But, sweetest of all, upon Christmas Eve, 

Is to hear the robin's song. 
'Tis the merriest sound upon earth and sea, 
For it comes from our own Aunt Mary's tree ! 



206 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

So. of all that grow by the king's highway, 

I love that tree the best : 
T'is a bower for the birds upon Christmay Day, 

The bush of the bleeding breast. 
Oh ! the holly, with her drops of blood, for me ; 
For that is our sweet Aunt Mary's tree ! 

The following was sent to the same young girl, 
P M : — 

MoRWENSTOW, February, 1853. Dear P , — I have 

copied a little parable-story for you. Tell me if you can under- 
stand it. May God bless you, my dear child, whom I love for 
your father's sake ! Yours faithfully, 

R. S. Hawker. 

Natum ante omnia ssecula. 

The first star gleamed over Nazareth, when thus the Lady 
said unto her Son: "Jesu, wilt thou not arise and go with me 
into the field, that we may hear the sweet chime of the birds 
as they chant their evening psalm?" — "Yea, Mary, mother," 
answered the awful Boy, — " yea, for I love their music well. 
I have loved it long. I listened, in my gladness, to the first- 
born voices of the winged fowl, when they brake forth into 
melody among the trees of the Garden, or ever there was a man 
to rejoice in their song. Twain, moreover, after their kind, the 
eagle and the dove, did my Father and I create, to be the token- 
birds of our Spirit, when he should go forth from us to thrill the 
world of time." 

His theory was that the eagle symbolized the Holy 
Ghost in his operation under the old covenant, and 
the dove his work in the Church. The double- 
headed eagle, so often found in mediaeval churches, — 
and there is one carved on a boss at Morwenstow, — 
he thought represented the twofold effusion of the 
Spirit in the two dispensations. 



"CAROL OF THE KINGS." 207 

The following "Carol of the Kings " was written 
during the Epiphany of 1859, and published with the 
signature "Nectan" in a Plymouth paper: — 

A CAROL OF THE KINGS. 

It is chronicled in an old Armenian myth, that the wise men of the East 
were none other than the three sons of Noe, and that they were raised from the 
dead to represent, and to do homage for all mankind, in the cave at Bethlehem ! 
Other legends are also told : one, that these patriarch-princes of the Flood did 
not ever die, but were rapt away into Enoch's Paradise, and were thence recalled 
to begin the solemn gesture of world-wide worship to the King-born Child ! 
Another saying holds, that, when their days were full, these arkite fathers fell 
asleep, and were laid at rest in a cavern at Ararat until Messias was bom, and 
that then an angel aroused them from the slumber of ages to bow down and to 
hail, as the heralds of many nations, the awful Child. Be this as it may, — 
whether the mystic magi were Sem, Cham, and Japhet, in their first or second 
existence, under their own names or those of other men ; or whether they 
were three long-descended and royal sages from the loins or the land of 
Baalam, — one thing has been delivered to me for very record. The super- 
natural shape of clustering orbs which was embodied suddenly from surround- 
ing light, and framed to be the beacon of that westward-way, was and is the 
Southern Cross ! It was not a solitary signal-fire, but a miraculous constella- 
tion, a pentacle of stars, whereof two shone for the transom and three for 
the stock ; and which went above and before the travellers, day and night, 
radiantly, until it came .and stood over where the young Child lay ! And 
then ? What then ? Must those faithful orbs dissolve and die ? Shall the 
gleaming trophy fall ? Nay — not so. When it had fulfilled the piety of its 
first-born office, it arose, and, amid the vassalage of every stellar and material 
law, it moved onward and onward, obedient to the impulse of God the Trinity, 
journeying evermore towards the south, until that starry image arrived in the 
predestined sphere of future and perpetual abode : to bend, as to this day it 
bends, above the peaceful sea, in everlasting memorial of the Child Jesus : the 
Southern Cross ! 



208 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

" Three ancient men in Bethlehem's cave 
With awful wonder stand : 
A voice had called them from their grave 
In some far Eastern land. 

They lived, they trod the former earth, 

When the old waters swelled : 
The ark, that womb of second birth, 

Their house and lineage held. 

Pale Japhet bows the knee with gold, 

Bright Sem sweet incense brings, 
And Cham, the myrrh his fingers hold : 

Lo ! the three Orient kings ! 

Types of the total earth, they hailed 

The signal's starry frame : 
Shuddering with second life, they quailed 

At the Child Jesu's name. 

Then slow the patriarchs turned and trod. 

And this their parting sigh, — 
* Our eyes have seen the living God, 

And now — once more to die.' " 

We began this chapter with stories illustrating the 
harsh side of Mr. Hawker's character. We have 
slided insensibly into those which show him forth 
in his gentler nature. There was in him the eagle 
and the dove : it is pleasanter to think of the dove- 
like characteristics of this grand old man. 

And naturally, when we speak of him in his softer 
moods, not when he is doing battle for God and the 
Church, and — it must be admitted — for his own 
whims, but when he is at peace and full of smiles, 
we come to think of him in his relations with chil- 
dren. 



LOVE OF CHILDREN. 209 

When his school was first opened he attended it 
daily ; but in after-years, as age and infirmities crept 
on, his visits were only once a week. 

He loved children, and they loved him. It was 
his delight to take them by the hand, and walk with 
them about the parish, telling them stories of St. 
Morwenna, St. Nectan, King Arthur, Sir Bevil Gran- 
ville, smugglers, wreckers, pixies, and hobgoblins, in 
one unflagging stream. So great was the affection 
borne him by the children of his parish, that when 
they were ill, and had to take physic, and the moth- 
ers could not induce them to swallow the nauseous 
draught, the vicar was sent for, and the little ones, 
without further struggle, swallowed the medicine 
administered by his hand. 

A child said to him one day, " Please, Mr. Hawker, 
did you ever see an angel .-* " 

"Margaret," he answered solemnly, and took one 
of the child's hands in his left palm, " there came to 
this door one day a poor man. He was in rags. 
Whence he came I know not. He appeared quite 
suddenly at the door. We gave him bread. There 
was something wonderful, mysterious, unearthly, in 
his face. And I watched him as he went away. 
Look, Margaret ! do you see that hill all gold and 
crimson with gorse and heather .-' He went that 
way. I saw him go up through the gold and crim- 
son, up, still upwards, to where the blue sky is, and 
there I lost sight of him all at once. I saw him no 
more ; but I thought of the words, ' Be not forgetful 
to entertain strangers : for thereby some have enter- 
tained angels unawares.' " 



2IO LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

*A good idea of his notions about angels, and their 
guardianship of his church, may be gathered from a 
remarkable sermon he preached a few years ago, on 
St. John the Baptist's Day, in his own church. It 
was heard by an old man, a builder in Kilkhampton ; 
and it made so deep an impression on his mind, that 
he was able to repeat to me the outline of its con- 
tents, and to give me whole passages. 

His text was i Sam. iii. 4, ^^ Here am I !" 

" More than a thousand years ago St. Morwenna came from 
Wales, from Brecknockshire, where was her father's palace: 
she loved the things of God more than the things of men. 

" And then the wild Atlantic rolled against these cliffs as 
now, and the gorse flamed over them as now, and the little 
brook dived through fern, and foamed over the rocks to join 
the sea, as now. And there were men and women where you 
dwell, as now ; and there were little children on their knees, as 
now. But then there was no knowledge of God in the hearts 
of men, as there is now. There was no Church, as now ; no 
Word of God preached, as now ; no font where the water was 
sanctified by the brooding Spirit, as now ; no altar where the 
bread of life was broken, as now. All lay in darkness and 
the shadow of death. 

" And God looked upon the earth, and saw the blue sea 
lashing our rocks, and the gorse flaming on our hills, and the 
brook murmuring into the sea, and men and women and chil- 
dren lying in the shadow of death ; and it grieved him. Then 
he called, ' Who will come and plant a church in that wild glen, 
and bring the light of life into this lone spot ? ' and Morwenna 
answered with brave heart and childlike simplicity, ' Here 
am I!' 

" And Morwenna came. She built herself a cell at Chapel- 
piece, where now no heather or furze or thorn will grow, for 
her feet have consecrated it for evermore ; and she got a gift 
of land ; and she built a church, and dedicated it to God the 



"HERE AM ir' 211 

Trinity, and St. John the Baptizer, who preached in a wilder- 
ness such as this. And she gave the land forever to God 
and his Church ; and wheresoever the gospel shall be preached, 
there shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told for a 
memorial of her. 

" Now a holy bishop came ; and he accepted, in the name of 
God, this gift of her hands, and he consecrated forever this 
church to God. 

" Now look you ! This house is God's. These pillars are 
God's. These windows are God's. That door is God's. Every 
stone and beam is God's. The grass in the churchyard, the 
heather-bell rooted in the tower, all are God's. 

"And when the holy bishop dedicated all to God, and con- 
secrated the ground to the very centre of the earth, then he set 
a priest here to minister in God's name, to bless, baptize, and 
break the holy bread, and fill the holy cup, in God's name. 

" And God looked out over the earth, and he saw the build- 
ing and the land Morwenna had given to him ; and he said, 
' Who will pasture my flock in this desert ? Who will pour on 
them the sanctifying water ? Who will distribute to them the 
bread of heaven ? And the priest standing here made answer, 
' Here am I ! ' 

" And God said, ' Who will stand by my priest, and watch 
and ward my building and my land ? Who will defend him 
against evil men ? Who will guard my house from the spoiler ? 
my land from those who would add field to field, till they can 
say, " We are alone in the earth " .'' ' And an angel answered, 
' Here am I ! ' 

" And the angel came down to keep guard here, with flaming 
sword that turneth every way, to champion the priest of God, 
and to watch the sanctuary of God. 

" More than one thousand years have rolled away since 
Morwenna gave this church to God ; and since then never has 
there been a day in which, when God looked forth upon the 
earth, there has not been a priest standing at that altar, to say 
in answer to his call, ' Here am I ! ' 

" A thousand years, and more, have swept away ; and in all 
these ages there never has been a moment in which an angel, 



212 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

leaning on his flashing sword, has not stood here as sentinel, to 
answer to God's call, when foes assail, and traitors give the 
Judas kiss, and feeble hearts fail, ' Here am I ! ' 

" And now, my brethren, I stand here. 

" Does God ask, ' Who is there to baptize the children, and 
bring them to me ? Who is there to instruct the young in the 
paths of righteousness ? Who is there to bless the young 
hands that clasp for life's journey ? Who is there to speak the 
word of pardon over the penitent sinner who turns with broken 
and contrite heart to me ? Who is there to give the bread of 
heaven to the wayfarers on life's desert ? Who is there to 
stand by the sick man's bed, and hold the cross before his clos- 
ing eyes ? Who is there to lay him with words of hope in his 
long home ? ' Why, my brethren, I look up in the face of God, 
and I answer boldly, confidently, yet humbly and suppliantly, 
* Here am I ! ' 

" I, with all my infirmities of temper and mind and body ; I, 
broken by old age, but with a spirit ever willing ; I, troubled on 
every side, without with fightings, within with fears ; I — I — 
strengthened, however, by the grace of God, and commissioned 
by his apostolic ministry. 

" And am I alone ? Not so. There are chariots and horses 
of fire about me. There are angels round us on every side. 

" You do not see them. You ask me, ' Do you .'' ' 

" And 1 answer, Yes, I do. 

" Am I weak ? An angel stays me up. Do my hands falter? 
An angel sustains them. Am I weary to death with disappoint- 
ment ? My head rests on an angel's bosom, and an angel's 
arms encircle me. 

" Who will raise his hand to tear down the house of God ? 
Who will venture to rob God of his inheritance 1 An angel is 
at hand. He beareth not the sword in vain : he saith to the 
assailer, ' Here am I ! ' 

" And believe me : the world may roll its course through 
centuries more ; the ocean may fret our rocks, as he has fretted 
them through ages past ; but as long as one stone stands upon 
another of Morwenna's church, so long will there be a priest to 
answer God's call, and say, ' Here am I ! ' and so long will there 



''HERE AM ir' 213 

be an angel to stay him up in his agony and weakness, saying, 
* Here am I ! ' and to meet the spoiler, with his sword and 
challenge, ' Here am I ! '" ^ 

1 This sermon is only given approximately. Mr. Hawker always preached 
extempore. It is a restoration ; and a restoration of fragments can never equal 
the original. 



214 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

The Vicar of Morwenstow as a Poet. — His Epigrams. — " The Carol of the 
Pruss." — " Down with the Church." — "The Quest of the Sangreal." 

— Editions of his Poems. — Ballads. — " The Song of the Western Men." 

— " The Cornish Mother's Lament." — "A Thought." — Churchyards. 

When the vicar of Morwenstow liked, he could fire 
off a pungent epigram. Many of these productions 
exist ; but, as most of them apply to persons or events 
with whom or with which the general reader has no 
acquaintance, it is not necessary to quote them. 
Some also are too keenly sharpened to bear publica- 
tion. 

The Hon. Newton Fellowes ^ canvassed for North 
Devon, at the time when the surplice controversy was 
at its height, and went before the electors as the 
champion of Protestantism, and " no washing of the 
parson's shirt." 

On the hustings he declared with great vehemence 
that he "would never, never, never, allow himself to 
be priest-ridden." Mr. Hawker heard him, and, tear- 
ing a leaf from his pocket-book, wrote on it, — 

" Thou ridden ne'er shalt be, by prophet or by priest : 
Balaam is dead, and none but he would choose thee for his 
beast ! " 

1 Afterwards Lord Portsmouth. 



''CAROL OF THE PRUSS." 215 

And he slipped the paper into the hand of the excited 
and eloquent speaker. 

He had a singular facility for writing off an epi- 
gram on the spur of the moment. In the midst of 
conversation he would pause, his hand go to the 
pencil that dangled from his button-hole, and on a 
scrap of paper, the fly-leaf of a book, or a margin of 
newspaper, a happy, brilliant epigram was written on 
some topic started in the course of conversation, and 
composed almost without his pausing in his talk. 

Many of his sayings were epigrammatical. On an 
extremely self-conceited man leaving the room one 
day, after he had caused some amusement by his 
self-assertion, Mr. Hawker said, " Conceit is the com- 
pensation afforded by benignant Nature for mental 
deficiency." 

His " Carol of the Pruss," Jan. i, 1 871, is better : — 



" Hurrah for the boom of the thundering gun ! 
Hurrah for the words they say ! 

* Here's a merry Christmas for every one, 

And a happy New Year's Day.' 
Thus saith the king to the echoing ball : 

* With the blessing of God we will slay them all ! ' 

' Up ! ' saith the king, ' load, fire, and slay ! ' 

'Tis a kindly signal given : 
However happy on earth be they, 

They'll be happier in heaven. 
Tell them, as soon as their souls are free 
They'll sing like birds on a Christmas-tree. 

Down with them all ! If they rise again, 
They will munch our beef and bread : 



2l6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

War there must be with the living men ; 

There'll be peace when all are dead ! 
This earth shall be our wide, wide home : 
Our foes shall have the world to come. 

Starve, starve, them all, till through the skin 

You may count each hungry bone ! 
Tap, tap their veins, till the blood runs thin, 

And their sinful flesh is gone ! 
While life is strong in the German sky, 

What matters it who besides may die ? 

No sigh so sweet as the cannon's breath, 

No music like to the gun ! 
There's a merry Christmas to war and death, 

And a happy New Year to none. 
Thus saith the king to the echoing ball • 
' With the blessing of God we will slay them all ! ' " 

Sir R. Vyvyan and Sir C. Lemon were standing 
for East Cornwall in the Conservative and Church 
interest. The opposition party was that of the Dis- 
senters ; and their cry was " Down with the Church ! " 
Thereupon Mr. Hawker wrote the lines — 

" Shall the gray tower in ruin bow ? 
Must the babe die with nameless brow ? 
Or common hands in mockery fling 
The unblessed waters of the spring? 
No ! while the Cornish voice can ring 
The Vyvyan cry, ' Our Church and King ! ' 

Shall the gray tower in ruin stand 
When the heart thrills within the hand, 
And beauty's lip to youth hath given 
The vow on earth that links for heaven ? 



EPIGRAMS. 217 

Shall no glad peal from church-tower gray 
Cheer the young maiden's homeward way? 
No ! while the Cornish voice can ring, 
And Vyvyan cry, ' Our Church and King ! ' 

Shall the gray tower in ruins spread ? 
And must the furrow hold the dead 
Without the toll of passing knell, 
Without the stoled priest to tell 
Of Christ the first-fruits of the dead, 
To wake our brother from his bed ? ^ 
No ! while the Cornish voice can ring, 
And Vyvyan cry, ' Our Church and King ! ' " 

When the Irish Church was disestablished, the 
vicar was highly incensed, and at the election of 
1873 voted for the Conservative candidate instead of 
holding fast in his allegiance to the Liberal. But 
when the Public Worship Bill was taken up by Mr. 
Disraeli, and carried through Parliament by the con- 
servative government, his faith in the Tory prime 
minister failed as wholly as it had in the leader 
of the Liberal party; and he wrote the following 
bitter epigram on the two prime ministers : — 

" An English boy was born, a Jew, and then 
On the eighth day received the name of Ben. 
Another boy was born, baptized, but still 
In common parlance called the People's Will! 
Both lived impenitent, and so they died ; 
And between both the Church was crucified. 
Which bore the brand, I pray thee tell me true, — 
The wavering Christian, or the doubtful Jew ? " 

1 Four lines in the last verse I have supplied, as the copy sent me was 
imperfect. 



2i8 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

There is another epigram attributed to him, but 
whether rightly or not I am not in a position to 
state : — 

" Doctor Hopwood,* the vicar of Calstock,* is dead ; 
But, De viortiiis nil nisi bonufn, is said. 
Let this maxim be strictly regarded, and then 
Doctor Hopwood will never be heard of again ! " 

The following is the solitary piece in which the 
influence of the tender passion seems manifest. It 
was written in 1864. 

" The eyes that melt, the eyes that burn, 
The lips that make a lover yearn, — 
These flashed on my bewildered sight 
Like meteors of the northern night. 

Then said I, in my wild amaze, 
' What stars be they that greet my gaze ?' 
Where shall my shivering rudder turn ? 
To eyes that melt, or eyes that burn ? 

Ah ! safer far the darkling sea 
Than where such perilous signals be : 
To rock and storm and whirlwind turn 
From eyes that melt, and eyes that burn." 

A lady was very pressing that he should write 
something in her album, — she thought his poems so 
charming, his ballads so delicious, his epigrams so 
delightful, &c. Mr. Hawker was impatient at this 
poor flattery, and, taking up her album, wrote in it : — 

A best superfine coat 5 5° 

A pair of kerseymere small-clothes . , 2 14 o 
A waiscoat with silk buttons . . . i 10 o 

^990 



"QUEST OF THE SANGKEAW 219 

Mr. Hawker was a poet of no mean order. His 
"Quest of the Sangreal," which is his most ambi- 
tious composition, is a poem of great power, and 
contains passages of rare beauty. It is unfortunate 
that he should have traversed the same ground as 
the Poet Laureate. The " Holy Grail " of the latter 
has eclipsed the " Quest " of the vicar of Morwen- 
stow. But, if the two poems be regarded without 
previous knowledge of the name of their composers, 
I am not sure that some judges would not prefer the 
masterpiece of the Cornish poet to a piece in which 
Mr. Tennyson scarcely rises to his true level. In 
his " Quest of the Sangreal " alone does the vicar of 
Morwenstow show his real power. His ballads are 
charming : but a ballad is never, and can never be, a 
poem of a high order ; it is essentially a popular piece 
of vei;se, without any depth of thought, pleasing by 
its swing and spirit, but not otherwise a work of art 
or genius. Mr. Hawker was too fond of the ballad. 
His first successes had been won in that line, and he 
adhered to it till late. A few sonnets rise to the 
level of sonnets, also never a very exalted one. His 
" Legend of St. Cecily " and " St. Thekla," some- 
what larger poems, are pleasing; but there is nothing 
in them which gives token of there lying in the 
breast of the Cornish vicar a deep vein of the purest 
poetical ore. That was only revealed by the publica- 
tion of " The Quest of the Sangreal," which rose 
above the smaller fry of ballads and sonnets as an 
eagle above the songsters of the grove. 

And yet this poem, belonging to the first order as 
I am disposed to regard it, is disappointing, — there 



220 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

is not enough of it. The poem is charged with 
ideas, crowded with conceptions full of beauty ; but 
it is a torso, not a complete statue. 

The subject of the poem is the Sangreal,^ the true 
blood of Christ, gathered by Joseph of Arimathea 
in a golden goblet from the side of the Saviour as he 
hung on the cross. This precious treasure he con- 
veyed to Britain, and settled with it at Avalon, or 
Glastonbury. There it remained till 

" Evil days came on, 
And evil men : the garbage of their sin 
Tainted this land, and all things holy fled. 
The Sangreal was not. On a summer eve 
The silence of the sky brake up in sound ; 
The tree of Josepli glowed with ruddy light ; 
A harmless fire curved like a molten vase 
Around the bush " — 

• 
and all was gone. 

After the lapse of centuries King Arthur sends 

his knights in quest of the miraculous vessel. There 

is a long account given by Arthur of its history, then 

of the drawing of the lots by his knights to decide 

the directions in which they are to ride in quest of 

it, then of the knights departing, and a description 

of the blazon and mottoes on their shields ; and then, 

1 There is considerable doubt as to the origin of the name Sangraal, 
Sangrail, or Sangreal. It has been variously derived from Sang-real, True 
Blood, and from Sanc-Grazal, the Provencal for Holy Cup. The latter is the 
most probable derivation. 

The Holy Grail was an element of Keltic mythology, along with the sacred 
lance, the sun-ray ; the Grail being the caldron of Ceridwen, the vessel or 
womb of nature. The old Keltic myth was Christianized by a British hermit 
in 720, who wrote on it a history called the Gradal, as Helinardus tells us, 
A.D. 1220. See my Myths of the Middle Ages, 2d series. 



"QUEST OF THE SANGREAL." 221 

— after some four hundred lines has led us to the 
beginning of the Quest, and we expect the adven- 
tures of Sir Percival, Sir Tristan, Sir Launcelot, and 
Sir Galahad, — it all ends in a vision unrolled before 
the eyes of King Arthur, of the fate of Britain, in 
about eighty lines. 

We are disappointed; for Sir Thomas Malory's 
" Morte d' Arthur " supplies abundant material for a 
long and glorious poem on the achievements of the 
four knights. 

The Poet Laureate's " Holy Grail " did not appear 
till 1870, or we might suppose that the Cornish poet 
shrank from treading on the same ground. When 
we turn over Sir Thomas Malory's pages, it is with 
a feeling of bitter regret that we have not his story 
glorified by Mr. Hawker's poetry. The finding of 
the Grail by Sir Galahad, his coronation as king of 
Sarras, and his death, were subjects he could have 
rendered to perfection. 

The name of the poem is a misnomer. There is 
no quest, only a starting on the quest. 

But, in spite of this conspicuous fault, " The Quest 
of the Sangreal " is a great poem, containing pas- 
sages of rare beauty." Of Joseph of Arimathea 
Mr. Hawker says : — 

" He dwelt in Orient Syria, God's own land, 
The ladder-foot of heaven ; where shadowy shapes 
In white apparel glided up and down. 
His home was like a garner full of corn 
And wine and oil, — a granary of God. 
Young men, that no one knew, went in and out 
With a far look in their eternal eyes. 



222 LIFE OF ROBERT S TEPHEN HA WKER. 

All things were strange and rare : the Sangreal, 
As though it clung to some ethereal chain, 
Brought down high heaven to earth at Arimath^e." 

The idea of the poet, — 

" The conscious water saw its God, and blushed," — 

in reference to the miracle at Cana, occurs with a 
change in Mr Hawker's verses, with reference to the 
Last Supper, — 

" The selfsame cup, wherein the faithful wine 
Heard God, and was obedient unto blood." 

After the loss of the Holy Grail, — 

" The land is lonely now : Anathema. 
The link that bound it to the silent grasp 
Of thrilling worlds is gathered up and gone : 
The glory is departed, and the disk 
So full of radiance from the touch of God. 
This orb is darkened to the distant watch 
Of Saturn and his reapers when they pause. 
Amid their sheaves, to count the nightly stars." 

The Eastward craving of Mr. Hawker, the point 
to which his heart and instincts turned, find expres- 
sion in this poem repeatedly ; — 

" Eastward ! the source and spring of life and light. 
Thence came, and thither went, the rush of worlds 
When the great cone of space was sown with stars. 
There rolled the gateway of the double dawn 
When the mere God shone down a breathing man. 
There, up from Bethany, the Syrian twelve 
Watched their dear Master darken into day. 



"QUEST OF THE SANGREAW 223 

Sir Galahad holds the Orient arrow's name, 

His chosen hand unbars the gate of day. 

There glows that Heart, filled with his mother's blood, 

That rules in every pulse the world of man, 

Link of the awful Three, with many a star. 

O blessed East ! 'mid visions such as thine, 

'Twere well to grasp the Sangreal, and die." 

In one passage Mr. Hawker seems to be speaking 
the feeling of loneliness that he ever felt in his own 
heart : he was, as he says in one of his letters, " the 
ever-alone." 

" Ha ! sirs, ye seek a noble crest to-day, — 
To win and wear the starry Sangreal, 
The link that binds to God a lonely land. 
Would that my arm went with you like my heart ! 
But the true shepherd must not shun the fold ; 
For in this flock are crouching grievous wolves, 
And chief among them all my own false kin. 
Therefore I tarry by the cruel sea 
To hear at eve the treacherous mermaid's song, 
And watch the wallowing monsters of the wave, 
'Mid all things fierce and wild and stt-ange, — alone t 
Ay ! aU beside can win companionship : 
The churl may clip his mate beneath the thatch. 
While his brown urchins nestle at his knees ; 
The soldier gives and grasps a mutual palm, 
Knit to his flesh in sinewy bonds of war ; 
The knight may seek at eve his castle-gate, 
Mount the old stair, and lift the accustomed latch. 
To find, for throbbing brow and weary limb, 
That paradise of pillows, one true breast. 
But he, the lofty ruler of the land, 
Like yonder Tor, first greeted by the dawn, 
And wooed the latest by the lingering day, 
With happy homes and hearths beneath his breas^ 
Must soar and gleam in solitary snow : 
The lonely one is evermore the king ! " 



224 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Here are some beautiful lines on Cornwall : — 

" Ah ! native Cornwall ! throned upon the hills, 
Thy moorland pathways worn by angel feet, 
Thy streams that march in music to the sea, 
'Mid Ocean's merry noise, his billowy laugh ! 
Ah, me ! a gloom falls heavy on my soul : 
The birds that sang to me in youth are dead. 
I think, in dreamy vigils of the night. 
It may be God is angry with my land, — 
Too much athirst for fame, too fond of blood, 
And all for earth, for shadows, and the dream 
To glean an echo from the winds of song ! " 

Mr. Hawker's poems were republished over and 
over again, with a few, but only a few, additions. 

The pieces written by him as a boy, " Tendrils, by 
Reuben," were never reprinted, nor did they deserve 
it. He saw that clearly enough. 

In 1832 he published his " Records of the Western 
Shore;" in 1836, the second series of the same. In 
these appeared his Cornish ballads. 

They were republished in a volume entitled " Ec- 
clesia," in 1841 ; again, with some additions, under 
the title, "Reeds shaken by the Wind," in 1842; 
and the second cluster of the same in 1843. 

They again appeared, with "Genoveva," in a vol- 
ume called "Echoes of Old Cornwall," in 1845. 
" Genoveva " is a poem founded on the beautiful 
story of G6n6vieve de Brabant, and appeared first in 
" German Ballads, Songs," &c., edited by Miss Smed- 
ley, and published by James Burns, no date. 

His "Cornish Ballads," and the "Quest of the 
Sangreal," containing reprints of the same poems, 



CORNISH BALLADS. 225 

came out in 1869. The "Quest of the Sangreal " 
was first pubhshed in 1864. 

In 1870 he collected into a volume, entitled " Foot- 
prints of Former Men in Cornwall," various papers 
on local traditions he had communicated to " Once a 
Week," and other periodicals. 

Of his ballads several have been given in this vol- 
ume. Two more only are given here ; one, " The 
Song of the Western Men," which deceived Sir 
Walter Scott and Lord Macaulay into the belief that 
it was a genuine ancient ballad. 

Macaulay says, in speaking of the agitation which 
prevailed throughout the country during the trial of 
the seven bishops, of whom Trelawney, Bishop of 
Bristol, was one, " The people of Cornwall, a fierce, 
bold, and athletic race, among whom there was a 
stronger provincial feeling than in any other part of 
the realm, were greatly moved by the danger of Tre- 
lawney, whom they reverenced less as a ruler of the 
Church, than as the head of an honorable house, and 
the heir, through twenty descents, of ancestors who 
had been of great note before the Normans set foot 
on English ground. All over the country the peas- 
ants chanted a ballad, of which the burden is still 
remefnbered : — 

' And shall Trelawney die ? and shall Trelawney die ? 

Then thirty thousand Cornish boys will know the reason why ! ' 

The miners from the caverns re-echoed the song 

with a variation : — 

" Then thirty thousand underground will know the reason why ! " 
The refrain is ancient, but the poem itself was 



226 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

composed by Mr. Hawker. This is its earliest form 
it afterwards underwent some revision. 

THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN. 

A good sword and a trusty hand, 

A merry heart and true, 
King James's men shall understand 

What Cornish lads can do. 
And have they fixed the where and when, 

And shall Trelawney die ? 
Then twenty thousand Cornish men . 

Will know the reason why ! 
What ! will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen, 

And shall Trelawney die ? 
Then twenty thousand underground 

Will know the reason why ! 

Out spake the captain brave and bold, 

A merry wight was he : 
" Though London's Tower were Michael's hold, 

We'll set Trelawney free. 
We'll cross the Tamar hand to hand, 

The Exe shall be no stay ; 
We'll side by side, from strand to strand, 

And who shall bid us nay ? 
What ! will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen, 

And shall Trelawney die ? , 

Then twenty thousand Cornish men 

Will know the reason why ! 

" And when we come to London Wall, 

We'll shout with it in view, 
' Come forth, come forth, ye cowards all ! 

We're better men than you ! 
Trelawney, he's in keep and hold, 

Trelawney, he may die ; 



CORNISH BALLADS. 227 

But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold 

Will know the reason why ! ' 
What ! will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen, 

And shall Trelawney die ? 
Then twenty thousand underground 

Will know the reason why ! " 

The other is a touching Httle ballad, the lament of 
a Cornish mother over her dead child ; which well 
illustrates the sympathy which always welled up in 
the kind vicar's heart when he met with suffering or 
sorrow : — 

" They say 'tis a sin to sorrow, 
That what God doth is best ; 
But 'tis only a month to-morrow 
I buried it from my breast. 

I know it should be a pleasure 

Your child to God to send ; 
But mine was a precious treasure 

To me and to my poor friend. 

I thought it would call me mother. 

The very first words it said : 
Oh, I never can love another 

Like the blessed babe that's dead ! 

Well, God is its own dear Father ; 

It was carried to church, and blessed ; 
And our Saviour's arms will gather 

Such children to their rest. 

I will check this foolish sorrow, 

For what God doth is best ; 
But oh, 'tis a month to-morrow 

I buried it from my breast ! " 



228 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

The following beautiful verses, of very high order 
of poetical merit, have never been published : — 

A THOUGHT. 
[Aug. 30, 1866. Suggested by Gen. xviii. 1-3.] 

A fair and stately scene of roof and walls 
Touched by the ruddy sunsets of the West, 

Where, meek and molten, eve's soft radiance falls 
Like golden feathers in the ringdove's nest. 

Yonder the bounding sea, that couch of God ! 

A wavy wilderness of sand between ; 
Such pavement, in the Syrian deserts, trod 

Bright forms, in girded albs, of heavenly mien. 

Such saw the patriarch in his noonday tent : 
Three severed shapes that glided in the sun. 

Till, lo ! they cling, and, interfused and blent, 
A lovely semblance gleams, the three in one ! * 

Be such the scenery of this peaceful ground, 

This leafy tent amid the wilderness ; 
Fair skies above, the breath of angels round. 

And God the Trinity to beam and bless ! 

This poem was sent to an intimate friend with this 
letter : — 

Dear Mrs. M , — I record the foregoing thought for 

you, because it literally occurred to me as I looked from the 
windows of your house, across the sand towards the sea. For- 
give the lines for the sake of their sincerity, &c. . . . 

1 Cf. Philo, "On Abraham," xxiv. : " The soul is shone upon by God as 
if at noonday . . . and being wholly surrounded with this brightness it per- 
ceives a threefold image of one subject, one image of the Living God, and 
others of the other two, as if they were shadows irradiated by it. . . . The one 
in the middle is the Father of the Universe, I Am that I Am ; and the beings 
on each side are those most ancient Powers which are ever close to the Living 
God, the Creative Power and the Royal Power." This is on Gen. xviii. 1-3. 
Did Mr. Hawker know the passage ? 



CHURCHYARDS. 229 

He wrote a poem of singular beauty on the auroral 
display of the night of Nov. 10, 1870, which was 
privately printed. In it he gave expression to the 
fancy, not original, but borrowed from Origen, or 
from North American Indian mythology, that the 
under-world of spirits is within this globe, and the 
door is at the North Pole, and the flashing of 
the lights is caused by the opening of the door to 
receive the dead. The following passage from his 
pen refers to the same idea : — 

Churchyards. — The north side is included in the same 
consecration with the rest of the ground. All within the boun- 
dary, and the boundary itself, is alike hallowed in sacred and 
secular law. It is because of the doctrine of the Regions, 
which has descended unbrokenly in the Church, that an evil 
repute rests on the northern parts. The east, from whence the 
Son of Man came, and who will come again from the Orient to 
judgment, was, and is, his own especial realm. The dead lie 
with their feet and faces turned eastwardly, ready to stand up 
before the approaching Judge. The west v/as called the Gali- 
lee, the region of the people. The south, the home of the 
noonday, was the typical domain of heavenly things. But the 
north, the ill-omened north, was the peculiar haunt of evil 
spirits and the dark powers of the air. Satan's door stood in 
the north wall, opposite the font, and was duly opened at the 
exorcism in baptism for the egress of the fiend. When our 
Lord lay in the sepulchre, it was with feet towards the east, so 
that his right hand gave benediction to the south, and his left 
hand reproached and repelled the north. When the evil spirits 
were cast out by the voice of Messiah, they fled, evermore, 
northward. The god of the north was Baalzephon. They say 
that at the North Pole there stands the awful gate, which none 
may approach and live, and which leads to the central depths 
of penal life. R. S. H, 

MORWENSTOW. 



230 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Restoration of Morwenstow Church. — The Shingle Roof. — The First 
Ruridecanal Synod. — The Weekly Offertory. — Correspondence with Mr. 
Walter. — On Alms. — Harvest Thanksgiving. — The School. — Mr. 
Hawker belonged to no Party. — His Eastern Proclivities. — Theological 
Ideas. — Baptism. — Original Sin. — The Eucharist. — Intercession of 
Saints. — The Blessed Virgin. — His Preaching. — Some Sermons. 

The church of Morwenstow was restored by Mr. 
Hawker in 1849 » ^^^^.t is to say, he removed the pews, 
and replaced the old carved oak benches, pulled down 
the gallery, and put up a new pulpit, and made sun- 
dry other changes in the church. 

The roof was covered with oak shingle in the most 
deplorable condition of decay. According to the 
description of a mason who went up the tower to 
survey it, " it looked, for all the world, like a wrecked 
ship thrown up on the shore." 

Mr. Hawker was very anxious to have the roof 
reshingled, and this question was before the vestry 
during several years. The parish offered to give the 
church a roofing of the best Delabole slate, but the 
vicar stood out for shingle. The rate-payers protested 
against wasting their money on such a perishable 
material, and the vicar would not yield. 

Vestry meeting after vestry meeting was called on 



THE SHINGLE ROOF. 231 

this matter ; one of the land-owners remonstrated, 
but all in vain : Mr. Hawker would not yield ; a shin- 
gle roof he would have, or none at all. A gentleman 
wrote to him, quoting a passage from Parker's " Glos- 
sary of Architecture " to show that anciently shingle 
roofs were only put on because more durable mate- 
rial was not available, and were removed when lead, 
slate, or tiles were to be had. But Mr. Hawker re- 
mained unconvinced. " Our parson du stick to his 
maygaims," said the people, shrugging their shoul- 
ders. He was very angry with the opposition to his 
shingle roof, and quarrelled with several of his parish- 
ioners about it. 

He managed to collect money among his friends, 
and re-roofed the church, bit by bit, with oak shingle. 
But old shingle was made from heart of oak cut down 
in winter : the shingle he obtained was from oak cut 
in spring for barking, and therefore full of sap. The 
consequence was, that in a very few years it rotted, 
and now lets the water in as through a colander. 

Enough money was thrown away on this roof to 
have put the whole church in thorough repair. 

I pointed out to the vicar some years ago, when he 
was talking of repairing his church, that the stones 
in the arches and in the walls were of various sorts, 
— some good building-stone, some rotten, some dark, 
some light, — giving a patchwork appearance to the 
interior. I advised the removal of the poorer stones, 
and the insertion of better ones for the sake of 
uniformity. " No, never ! " he answered. " The 
Church is built up of good and bad, of the feeble 
and the strong, the rich and the poor, the durable 



232 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

and the perishable. The material Church is a type 
of the catholic Church, not the type of a sect." 

In many ways Mr. Hawker was before his time, as 
in other ways he was centuries behind it. 

He was the first to institute ruridecanal synods ; 
and, when he was Rural Dean in 1844, he issued the 
following citation to all the clergy of the deanery of 
Trigg-Major : — 

In obedience to the desire of many of the clergy, and with 
the full sanction of our Right Reverend Father in God, the 
lord bishop of this diocese, I propose, in these anxious days of 
the ecclesiate, to restore the ancient usage of rural synods in 
the deanery of Trigg-Major. I accordingly convene you to 
appear, in your surplice, in my church of Morwenstow on the 
fifth day of March next ensuing, at eleven o'clock in the fore- 
noon, then and there, after divine service, to deliberate with 
your brethren in chapter assembled. I remain, reverend sir, 
your faithful servant, R. S. Hawker, 

The Rural Dean. 
February, 1844. 

Accordingly on March 5, the clergy assembled in 
the vicarage, and walked in procession thence to the 
church in their surplices. The church was filled with 
the laity ; the clergy were seated in the chancel. The 
altar was adorned with flowers and lighted candles. 
After service the laity withdrew, and the doors of the 
church were closed. The clergy then assembled in 
the nave, and the rural dean read them an elaborate 
and able statement of the case of rural chapters, 
after which they proceeded to business. His paper 
on Rural Synods was afterwards published by Ed- 
wards & Hughes, Ave Maria Lane, 1844. 

It is remarkable that synods, which are now being 



CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. WALTER. 233 

here and there revived in a spasmodic manner, meet- 
ing sometimes in vestries, sometimes in dining-rooms, 
were first restored after the desuetude of three cen- 
turies, in the church of Morwenstow, and with so 
much gravity and dignity, thirty-one years ago. 

The importance of the weekly offertory is another 
thing now recognized. The Church seems to be pre- 
paring herself against possible disestablishment and 
disendowment, by reviving her organic life in synods, 
and by impressing on her people the necessity of 
giving towards the support of the services and the 
ministry. But the weekly offertory is quite a novelty 
in most places still. Almost the first incumbent in 
England to establish it was the vicar of Morwenstow, 
before 1843. 

He entered into controversy on the subject of the 
offertory with Mr Walter of "The Times." 

When the Poor Law Amendment Bill passed in 
1834, and was amended in 1836 and 1838, it was 
thought by many that the need for an offertory in 
church was done away with, and that the giving of 
alms to the poor was an interference with the work- 
ing of the Poor Law. 

Mr. Hawker published a statement of what he 
did in his parish, in "The English Churchman," in 
1844. Mr. Walter made this statement the basis of 
an attack on the system, and especially on Mr. 
Hawker, in a letter to " The Times." 

Mr. Hawker replied to this : — 

Sir, — I regret to discover that you have permitted yourself 
to invade the tranquillity of my parish, and to endeavor to inter- 
rupt the harmony between myself and my parishioners, in a let- 



234 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

ter which I have just read in a recent number of " The Times." 
You have done so by a garbled copy of a statement which ap- 
peared in " The English Churchman," of the reception and dis- 
posal of the offertory alms in the parish church of Morwenstow. 

I say "garbled" because, while you have adduced just so 
much of the document as suited your purpose, you have sup- 
pressed such parts of it as might have tended to alleviate the 
hostility which many persons entertain to this part of the ser- 
vice of the Church. 

With reference to our choice, as the recipients of church 
money, of laborers whose " wages are seven shillings a week," 
and " who have a wife and four children to maintain thereon," 
you say, " Here is an excuse for the employer to give deficient 
wages ! " 

In reply to this, I beg to inform you that the wages in this 
neighborhood never fluctuate : they have continued at this fixed 
amount during the ten years of my incumbency. . . . Your 
argument, as applied to my parishioners, is this : Because they 
have scanty wages in that country, therefore they should have 
no alms ; because these laborers of Morwenstow are restricted 
by the law from any relief from the rate, therefore they shall 
have no charity from the church ; because they have little, there- 
fore they shall have no more. You insinuate that I, a Christian 
minister, think eight shillings a week sufficient for six persons 
during a winter's week, as though I were desirous to limit the 
resources of my poor parishioners to that sum. May God for- 
give you your miserable supposition ! I have all my life sin- 
cerely, and not to serve any party purpose, been an advocate of 
the cause of the poor. I, for many long years, have honestly, 
and not to promote political ends, denounced the unholy and 
cruel enactments of the New Poor Law. . . . 

Let me now proceed to correct some transcendent miscon- 
ceptions of yourself and others as to the nature and intent of 
the offertory in church. The ancient and modern division of all 
religious life was, and is, threefold, — into devotion, self-denial, 
and alms. No sacred practice, no Christian service, was or is 
complete without the union of these three. They were all alike 
and equally enjoined by the Saviour of man. The collection 



ON ALMSGIVING. 235 

of alms was therefore incorporated in the Book of Common 
Prayer. But it was never held to be established among the 
services of the Church for the benefit of the poor alone : it was 
to enable the rich to enjoy the blessedness of almsgiving for 
their Redeemer's sake : it was to afford to every giver fixed and 
solemn opportunity to fulfil the remembrance, that whatsoever 
they did to the poor they did unto Him, and that the least of 
such their kindness would not be forgotten at the last day. 
" Let us wash," they said, " our Saviour's feet by alms." . . . 
But this practice of alms, whereunto the heavenly Head of the 
Church annexed a specific reward, — this necessity, we are told, 
is become obsolete. A Christian duty become, by desuetude, 
obsolete ! As well might a man infer that any other religious 
excellence ceased to be obligatory because it had been disused. 
The virtue of humility, for example, which has been so long in 
abeyance among certain of the laity, shall no longer, therefore, 
be a Christian grace ! The blessing on the meek shall cease in 
1844! . . . Voluntary kindness and alms have been rendered 
unnecessary by the compulsory payments enacted by the New 
Poor Law ! As though the twenty-fifth chapter of St. Matthew 
had been repealed by Sir James Graham ! As if one of the 
three conditions of our Christian covenant was to expire during 
the administration of Sir Robert Peel ! . . . 

And now, sir, I conclude with one or two parting admo- 
nitions to yourself. You are, I am told, an elderly man, fast 
approaching the end of all things, and, ere many years have 
passed, about to stand a separated soul among the awful myster- 
ies of the spiritual world. I counsel you to beware, lest the re- 
membrance of these attempts to diminish the pence of the poor, 
and to impede the charitable duties of the rich, should assuage 
your happiness in that abode where the strifes and the triumphs 
of controversy are unknown, " Because thou hast done this 
thing, and because thou hadst no pity." And lastly, I advise 
you not again to assail our rural parishes with such publications, 
to harass and unsettle the minds of our faithful people. We, 
the Cornish clergy, are a humble and undistinguished race ; but 
we are apt, when unjustly assailed, to defend ourselves in 
straightforward language, and to utter plain admonitions, such 



236 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

as, on this occasion, I have thought it my duty to address to 
yourself ; and I remain your obedient servant, 

R. S. Hawker. 
Nov. 27, 1844. 

Now there is scarcely a church in England in which 
a harvest thanksgiving service is not held. But 
probably the first to institute such a festival in the 
Anglican Church was the vicar of Morwenstow in 
1843. 

In that year he issued a notice to his parishioners 
to draw their attention to the duty of thanking God 
for the harvest, and of announcing that he would set 
apart a Sunday for such a purpose. 

To THE Parishioners of Morwenstow. 

When the sacred Psalmist inquired what he should render 
unto the Lord for all the benefits that He had done unto him, he 
made answer to himself, and said, " I will receive the cup of 
salvation, and call upon the name of the Lord." Brethren, God 
has been very merciful to us this year also. He hath filled our 
garners with increase, and satisfied our poor with bread. He 
opened his hand, and filled all things living with plenteousness. 
Let us offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving among such as keep 
Holy Day. Let us gather together in the chancel of our church 
on the first Sunday of the next month, and there receive, in the 
bread of the new corn,^ that blessed sacrament which was 
ordained to strengthen and refresh our souls. As it is written, 
" He rained down manna also upon them for to eat, and gave 
them food from heaven." And again, " In the hand of the 
Lord there is a cup, and the wine is red." Furthermore, let us 
remember, that, as a multitude of grains of wheat are mingled 
into one loaf, so we, being many, are intended to be joined 
together into one, in that holy sacrament of the Church of Jesus 

1 On Oct. I, Lammas Day, the eucharistic bread was anciently made of 
the new corn of the recent harvest. This custom Mr. Hawker revived. 



ST. MARK'S SCHOOL. 237 

Christ. Brethren, on the first morning of October call to mind 
the word, that, wheresoever the body is, thither will the eagles 
be gathered together. " Let the people praise thee, O God, 
yea, let all the people praise thee ! Then shall the earth bring 
forth her increase, and God, even our own God, shall give us 
his blessing. God shall bless us, and all the ends of the earth 
shall fear him." 

The Vicar. 
The Vicarage, Morwenstow, Sept. 13, 1843. 

At much expense to himself he built and main- 
tained a school in a central position in the parish. 
He called it St. Mark's School. It stands on a very- 
exposed spot, and the site can hardly be considered 
as judiciously chosen. It is unnecessary here, it 
could hardly prove interesting, to quote numberless 
letters which I have before me, recounting his strug- 
gles to keep this school open, and obtain an efficient 
master for it. It was a great tax on his means, light- 
ened, however, by the donations and subscriptions of 
land-owners in the parish and personal friends to- 
wards the close of his life. 

But in 1857 he wrote a letter to a friend, who has 
sent the letter to " The Rock," from which I extract 
it. 

" It is said that Mr. Hawker is a very ' eccentric ' man. Now, 
I ■ know not in what sense they may have intended the phrase, 
nor, in fact, what they wish to insinuate ; so that I can hardly 
reply. If they mean to convey the ordinary force of the term, 
namely, a person out of the common, I am again at a loss. I 
wear a cassock, instead of a broadcloth coat, which is, I know, 
eccentric ; but then, 1 have paid my parish-school expenses for 
many years out of the difference between the usual clergyman's 
tailor's bill and my own cost in apparel ; so that I do not, as 
they may have meant, feel ashamed or blush at such eccen- 
tricity. My mode of life, again, does differ from that of most 



238 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

of my clerical neighbors ; for while they belong, some to one 
party in the Church and some to another, I have always lived 
aloof from them all, whether High or Low. And although 
there exist clerical clubs of both extremes in this deanery, and 
I have been invited to join by each, I never yet was present at 
a club meeting, dinner, or a local synod. The time would fail 
me to recount the many modes and manners wherein I do differ 
from usual men. Be it enough that I am neither ashamed nor 
sorry for any domestic or parochial habit of life." 

In 1845 he issued the following curious notice in 
reference to his daily prayer and his school : — 

Take Notice. 

The vicar will say divine service henceforward every morn- 
ing at ten, and every evening at four. " Praised be the Lord 
daily, even the God that helpeth us, and poureth his benefits 
upon us " (Ps. Ixviii. 19). 

The vicar will attend at St Mark's schoolroom every Friday 
at three o'clock, to catechise the scholars, and at the Sunday 
school at the usual hour. He will not from henceforth show 
the same kindness to those who keep back their children from 
school as he will to those who send them. " Thou shalt not 
seethe a kid in his mother's milk " (Exod. xxiii. 19). 

Mr. Hawker was a High Churchman, but one of 
an original type, wholly distinct from the Tractarian 
of the first period, and the Ritualist of the second 
period, of the Catholic revival in the English Church. 
He never associated himself with any party. He did 
not read the controversial literature of his day, or 
interest himself in the persons of the ecclesiastical 
movement in the Anglican communion. 



EASTERN TENDENCIES. 239 

In November, 1861, he wrote: — 

"Dr. Bloxham was an ancient friend of mine (at Oxford). 
One of a large body of good and learned men, all now gone, 
and he only left. How I recollect their faces and words ! 
Newman, Pusey, Ward, Marriott — they used to be all in the 
common room every evening, discussing, talking, reading. I 
remember the one to whom I did not take was Dr. Pusey. 
He never seemed simple in thought or speech ; obscure and 
involved. He was the last in all that set — as I now look back 
and think — to have followers called by his name." 

Mr. Hawker turned his eyes far more towards the 
Eastern Church than towards Rome. His mind was 
fired by Mr. Collin s-Trelawney's " Peranzabuloe, or 
the Lost Church Found," the fourth edition of which 
appeared in 1839. ^^ was an account of the ancient 
British chapel and cell of St. Piran, which had been 
swallowed up by the sands, but which was exhumed, 
and the bones of the saint, some ancient crosses, and 
early rude sculpture found. The author of the book 
drew a picture of the ancient British Church inde- 
pendent of Rome, having its own local peculiarities 
with regard to the observance of Easter, and the 
tonsure, &c., and argued that this church, which 
held aloof from St. Augustine, was of Oriental origin. 
He misunderstood the paschal question altogether, 
and his argument on that head falls to the ground 
when examined by the light which can be brought 
to bear on it from Irish sources. The ancient British, 
Scottish, and Irish churches did not follow the Ori- 
ental rule with regard to the observance of Easter ; 
but their calendar had got out of gear, and they 
objected to its revision. 



240 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

However, the book convinced Mr. Hawker that he 
must look to the East for the ancestors of the Cornish 
Church, and not Rome-wards ; and this view of the 
case lasted through his life, and colored his opinions. 

When Dr. J. Mason Neale's " History of the Holy 
Eastern Church " came out, he was intensely inter- 
ested in it ; and his Oriental fever reached its climax, 
and manifested itself in the adoption of a pink brim- 
less hat, after the Eastern type. This Eastern craze 
also probably induced him, when he adopted a vest- 
ment, to put on a cope for the celebration of the 
holy communion ; that vestment being used by the 
Armenian Church for the Divine Mysteries, whereas 
it is never so used in the Roman Church. 

His theology assumed an Oriental tinge, and he 
expressed his views more as an Eastern than as a 
son of the West. 

A few of his short notes of exposition on Holy 
Scripture have come into my hands, and I insert one 
or two of them as specimens of the poetical fancy 
which played round gospel truths. 

'"O fiea'cTijg. A mediator is not one who prays. Christ's 
manhood is the intermediate thing which stands between the 
Trinity and man, to link and blend the natures human and 
divine. It is the bridge between the place of exile and our 
native land. The presence of God the Son, standing with his 
wounds on the right hand of God the Father, z's, and consti- 
tutes, mediation." 

His idea is that mediation is not intercession, but 
the serving as a channel of intercommunion between 
God and man. Thus there can be but one mediator, 
but every one may intercede for another. There 



THEOLOGICAL NOTES. 241 

can be no doubt that he was right. Though he was 
not aware of it, this is exactly the line laid down by 
Philo, in a wonderful passage which is an appeal for, 
and prophecy of, the Incarnation. 

" The three days and three nights h> r^ Kapdiq, tt/c yfig. When 
the Lord Jesus died, the round world became for a time his 
vast sepulchre. The whole earth girded him in. The globe 
of the nations received the silent God-man into its breast, and 
revolved ! An orb that was in itself a tomb. A vaulted star. 
Of Thucydides, 'H Trdoa yf] 6 ra^of. One day and two nights at 
Judcea ; two days and one night at the Antipodes. 

" Gal. iii. 20. St. Paul refers to the necessity of our Lord's 
Incarnation. God as God, inasmuch as he was a party, could 
not have been the Mediator. Therefore the Second Person 
took the human nature on him, and stood between both. But 
did he thus sever himself from the First Person ? No, the 
Godhead was still one. This is the meaning." 

His views with regard to baptism were peculiar. 
He seems to have retained a little of his grand- 
father's Calvinistic leaven in his soul, much as St. 
Augustine's early Manichaeism clung to him, and 
discolored his later orthodoxy. The Catholic doc- 
trine of the Fall is, that, by the first transgression 
of Adam, a discord entered into his constitution, so 
that thenceforth, soul and mind and body, instead 
of desiring what is good and salutary, are distracted 
by conflicting wishes, the flesh lusting against the 
spirit, and the mind approving that which is repug- 
nant to the body. The object of the Incarnation is 
to restore harmony to the nature of man ; and in 
baptism is infused into man a supernatural element 
of power for conciliating the three constituents of 
man. Fallen man is, according to Tridentine doc- 



242 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

trine, a beautiful instrument whose strings are in 
discord ; a chime 

" Of sweet bells jangled, out of tune." 

But he is provided with the Conciliator, with One 
whose note is so clear and true that he can raise the 
pitch of all his strings by that, and thus restore the 
lost music of the world. 

Lutheran and Calvin istic teaching, however, are 
the reverse of this. According to the language of 
the " Formulary of Concord," man by the Fall has 
lost every element of good, even the smallest capacity 
and aptitude and power m spiritual things ; he has 
lost the faculty of knowing God, and the will to do 
any thing that is good ; he can no more lead a good 
life than a stock or a stone ; every thing good in him 
is utterly obliterated. There is also a positive in- 
gredient of sin infused into the veins of every man. 
Sin is, according to Luther, of the essence of man. 
Original sin is not, as the Church teaches, the loss 
of supernatural grace co-ordinating man's faculties, 
and their consequent disorder : it is something born 
of the father and mother. The clay of which we are 
formed is damnable ; the foetus in the mother's womb 
is sin ; man, with his whole nature and essence, is 
not only a sinner, but sin. Such are the expressions 
of Luther, indorsed by Quenstadt. Man, according 
to Catholic theology, still bears in him the image of 
God, but blurred. According to Melanchthon, this 
image is wholly obliterated by an *' intimate, most 
evil, most profound, inscrutable, ineffable corruption 
of our whole nature." Calvin clinches the matter 



ON ORIGINAL SIN. 243 

by observing that from man's corrupted nature comes 
only what is damnable. "Man," says he, "has been 
so banished from the kingdom of God, that all in 
him that bears reference to the blessed life of the 
soul is extinct." ^ And if men have glimpses of 
better things, it is only that God may take from 
them every excuse when he damns them.^ 

Mr. Hawker by no means adopted the Catholic 
view of the Fall : the Protestant doctrine of the utter 
corruption and ruin of man's nature had been so 
deeply driven into his mind by his grandfather, that 
it never wholly worked itself out, and he never 
attained to the healthier view of human nature as a 
compound of good elements temporarily thrown in 
disarray. 

This view of his appears in papers which are under 
my eye, as I write, and in his ballad for a cottage- 
wall, on Baptism. 

" Ah ! woe is me ! for I have no grace 
Nor goodness as I ought : 
I never shall go to the happy place, 
And 'tis all my parents' fault." 

His teaching on the Eucharist he embodied in a 
ballad entitled •' Ephphatha." An old blind man 
sits in a hall at Morwenstow, that of Tonacombe 
probably. 

" He asks, and bread of wheat they bring ; 
He thirsts for water from the spring 
Which flowed of old, and still flows on, 
With name and memory of St. John." 

1 Institutes, lib. ii. c. 2, sect. 12. 2 ibid, sect. 18. 



244 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Bread and water are given him ; and, through the 
stained windows, glorious rainbow tints fall over 
what is set before him. A page looking on him 
pities the old man, because 

" He eats, but sees not on that bread 
What glorious radiance there is shed ; 
He drinks from out that chalice fair. 
Nor marks the sunlight glancing there. 

Watch ! gentle Ronald, watch and pray ! 
And hear once more an old man's lay : 
I cannot see the morning poured 
Ruddy and rich on this gay board ; 
I may not trace the noonday light 
Wherewith my bread and bowl are bright ; 
But thou, whose words are sooth, hast said 
That brightness falls on this fair bread ; 
Thou sayest, and thy tones are true. 
This cup is tinged with heaven's own hue : 
I trust thy voice, I know from thee 
That which I cannot hear nor see." 

The application of the parable is palpable. Mr. 
Hawker appended to the ballad the following note: — 

" I have sought in these verses to suggest a shadow of that 
beautiful instruction to Christian men, the actual and spiritual 
presence of our Lord in the second sacrament of his Church ; 
a primal and perpetual doctrine in the faith once delivered to 
the saints. How sadly the simplicity of this hath and has been 
distorted and disturbed by the gross and sensuous notion of a 
carnal presence, introduced by the Romish innovation of the 
eleventh century ! " ^ 

The following passage occurs in one of his ser- 
mons : — 

1 Note in Ecclesia, 1841. 



THE HOLY COMMUNION. 245 

" If there be any thing in all the earth to which our Lord did 
join a blessing, and that for evermore, it was the bread and tlie 
cup. Surely of this sacrament, which the apostles served, it 
may be said. He that receiveth you receiveth Me. Now, nothing 
can be more certain than that our Lord and Master, before he 
suffered death, called into his presence the twelve men, the 
equal founders of his future Church. He stood alone with the 
twelve. There was nobody else there but those ministers and 
their Lord. Nothing is more manifest than that he took bread 
of corn, and showed the apostles in what manner and with what 
words to bless and to break it. Equally clear is it, that their 
Lord took into his hands, with remarkable gesture and deed, 
the cup, and taught the twelve also the blessing of the wine. 
Accordingly, after the Son of man went up, we read that the 
apostles took bread, and blessed, and gave it to the Church. 
Likewise also they took the cup. 

" And, although the Romish Dissenters keep it back to this 
day, the apostles gave the wine also to the people. St. Paul, 
who was not one of the twelve, but a bishop afterwards 
ordained, writes : ' We have an altar.' He speaks of the bread 
which he breaks, and the cup he was accustomed to bless. So 
we trace from those old apostolic days, down to our own, an 
altar-table of wood in remembrance of the wooden cross, fine 
white bread, good and wholesome wine, a ministry descended 
from the apostles, to be in all ages and in every land the out- 
ward and visible signs of a great event, — the eternal sacrifice 
of Jesus Christ our Lord. 

" Now, nothing can be more plain than that these things, so 
seen, and handled, and felt, and eaten, and drunk, were delivered 
to the Church to contain and to convey a deep blessing, an 
actual grace. They were ordained for this end by Christ him- 
self : he said of the bread. This is my body; i.e., not a part of 
my flesh, but a portion of my spiritual presence, a share of that 
which is divine. 

" Again, Jesus said about the cup, This is my blood ; i.e., not 
that which gushed upon the soldier's spear, but the life-blood 
of my heavenly heart, that which shall be shed on you from on 
high with the fruit of the vine, — the produce of the everlast- 
ing veins of him who is on the right hand of God. 



246 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

" So was it understood, so is it explained, by apostolic words. 
Thus said St. Paul, ' The cup of blessing which we bless, is it 
not the communion, — the common reception, that is, — the 
communication to faithful lips of the blood of Christ ? ' 

" So we say in our Catechism, that the body and blood of 
Christ are verily and indeed taken and received. We confess 
that our souls are strengthened and refreshed in the sacrament 
of the body and blood of Christ : we call the bread and wine in 
our service heavenly food. We acknowledge that we spiritually 
eat the flesh of Christ, and drink his blood. We declare that 
in that sacrament we join him, and he us, as drops of water that 
mingle in the sea, and that we are, in that awful hour, very 
members incorporate in the mystical body of the Son of God, 
— words well-nigh too deep to apprehend or to explain." 

Mr, Hawker, holding, as has been shown, that 
mediation was distinct from intercession, admitted 
that the dead in Christ could pray for their brethren 
struggling in the warfare of life, as really and more 
effectually than they could when living. If the souls 
under the altar seen by St. John could cry out for 
vengeance on those upon earth, surely they could 
also ask for mercy to be shown them. 

He thought that all the baptized had six sponsors, 
the three on earth and three in heaven. Those in 
heaven were the guardian angel of the child, the 
saint whose name the child bore, and the saint to 
whom the church was dedicated in which the bap- 
tism took place ; and that, as it was the duty of 
earthly sponsors to look after and pray for their 
godchildren, so it was the privilege and pleasure of 
their heavenly patrons to watch and intercede for 
their welfare. 

He did not see why Christians should not ask the 



THEOLOGICAL IDEAS. 247 

prayers of those in bliss, as well as the prayers of 
those in contest ; and he contended that this was a 
very different matter from Romish invocation of 
saints, that invested the blessed ones with all but 
divine attributes, and which he utterly repudiated. 
He quoted Latimer, Bishop Montague, Thorndike, 
Bishop Forbes, in the seventeenth century ; and Dean 
Field, and Morton, Bishop of Durham, &c., — as hold- 
ing precisely the same view as himself. 

Of course his doctrines to some seem to be peril- 
ously high. But in the English Church there are 
various shades of dogmatism, and the faintest tinge 
to one whose views are colorless is a great advance. 
The slug at the bottom of the cabbage-stalk thinks 
the slug an inch up the stalk very high, and the slug 
on the stalk regards the slug on the leaf as perilously 
advanced, whilst the slug on the leaf considers the 
snail on the leaf-end as occupying an equivocal posi- 
tion. 

Catholicism and Popery have really nothing neces- 
sarily in common. The first is a system of belief 
founded on the Incarnation, the advantages of which 
it applies to man through a sacramental system ; 
while the latter is a system of ecclesiastical organiza- 
tion, which has only accidentally been linked with 
Catholicism, but which is equally at home in the 
steppes of Tartary with Buddhism. 

Popery is a centralization in matter of church gov- 
ernment : it is autocracy. A man may be theoreti- 
cally an Ultramontane without being even a Chris- 
tian, for he may believe in a despotism. And a jnan 
may be a Catholic in all his views, without having 



248 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

the smallest sympathy with Popery. As a matter of 
fact, the most advanced men in the English Church 
are radically liberal in their views of church govern- 
ment ; and if they strive with one hand to restore 
forgotten doctrines, and re-instate public worship, 
with the other they do battle for the introduction of 
Constitutionalism into the organization of the Church 
of England, the element of all others most opposed 
to Popery. 

It is quite possible to distinguish Catholicism from 
Romanism. Romanism has developed a system, — a 
miserable system of indulgences and dispensations 
on one side, and restraints on the other, — all issuing 
from the throne of St. Peter, as an impure flood from 
a corrupt fountain, and which has sadly injured Chris- 
tian morals. A student of history cannot fail to 
notice that the Papacy has been a blight on Chris- 
tianity, robbing it of its regenerating and reforming 
power, a parasitic growth draining it of its life-blood. 
He may love, with every fibre of his soul, the great 
sacramental system, the glorious Catholic verities, 
common to Constantinople and Rome, to Jerusalem 
and Moscow ; but it is only to make him bitterly 
regret that they have been used as a vehicle for 
Romish cupidity, so as to make them odious in the 
eyes of Protestants. Holding Catholic doctrines, and 
enjoying Catholic practices, an English Churchman 
may be as far removed in temper of soul from Rome 
as any Irish Orangeman. 

Mr. Hawker held the Blessed Virgin in great rev- 
erence. The ideal of womanhood touched his poet- 
ical instincts. Yet he checked his exuberant fancy. 



THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 249 

when dealing with this theme, by his conscience of 
what was right and fitting. He says, in a sermon on 
the text, " He stretched forth his hand towards his 
disciples, and said, Behold my mother and my breth- 
ren ; for whosoever shall do the will of God, the same 
is my brother and sister and mother : " " His mother 
also, whom the angel had pronounced blessed among 
women, because on her knees the future Christ should 
lie, sought to usurp the influence of nature over the 
Son divine. But to teach that although in the earth 
he was not all of the earth, and aware of the blind 
idolatry which future men would yield unto her who 
bare him, and those to whom his incarnation in 
their family gave superior name, Jesus publicly re- 
nounced all domestic claim to his particular regard. 
More than once did he remind Mary, his mother, 
that in his miraculous nature she did not partake ; 
that in the functions of his Godhead she had nothing 
to do with him." 

The Rev. W. Valentine, rector of Whixley, per- 
haps the most intimate friend Mr. Hawker had, writes 
to me of him thus : — 

" During the first six months of my residence at Chapel 
House, Morwenstow, September, 1863, to April, 1864, I and he 
invariably spent our evenings together; and although for ten 
weeks of that period I took the Sunday morning and evening 
duties at Stratton Church, during the illness of the vicar, I 
always rode round by Morwenstow vicarage on Sundays to 
spend an hour with him, at his urgent request, though it took 
me some miles out of my way over Stowe Hill and by Combe. 
I thus got to know Mr. Hawker thoroughly, more intimately 
perhaps, as to character and social habits, than any other friend 
ever did ; and on two important points no one will ever shake 



250 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

my testimony, viz., a, his desire to be buried by me beneath 
the shadow of his own beloved church, ' That gray fane, the 
beacon of the Eternal Land ; ' and, b, his constant allusions to 
the Roman Catholics as ' Romish Dissenters.' " 

But Mr. Hawker was neither a theologian, nor 
careful in the .expression of his opinions. He spoke 
as he thought at the moment, and he thought as 
the impulse swayed him. Many of his most intimate 
friends, who met him constantly during the last years 
of his life, and to whom he opened his heart most 
fully, are firm in their conviction that he was a sin- 
cere member of the Church of England, believing 
thoroughly in her divine mission and authority. But 
it is quite possible, that, in moments of excitement 
and disappointment, to others he may have expressed 
himself otherwise. He was the creature of impulse ; 
and his mind was never very evenly balanced, nor did 
his judgment always reign paramount over his fancies. 

Mr. Valentine writes in another letter to me : — 

" I have only one sermon to send you, but to me it is a deeply 
interesting one, as it was delivered more than once just over 
the spot where he told me so often to lay him ; and I feel as- 
sured that whenever he preached it, his thoughts would wander 
onward to that coming day when he himself, as he contem- 
plated, would form one of that last and vast assemblage which 
will be gathered in Morwenstow churchyard and church. Ever 
since I knew dear old Hawker, and for years before, he preached 
extempore. His habit was to take a prayer-book into the pul- 
pit, and expound the gospel for the day. He would read a 
verse or two, and then with a common lead-pencil, which was 
ever suspended by a string from one of his coat-buttons, mark 
his resting-point. Having expounded the passage, he would 
read further, mark again, and expound. His clear, full voice 
was most mellifluous', and his language, whilst plain and homely, 



DESTRUCTION OF HIS SERMONS. 251 

was highly poetical, and quite enchanting to listen to. He 
riveted one's whole attention. His pulpit MSS. are very rare, 
because, just before taking to extempore preaching, ' baskets- 
full ' of his sermons were destroyed under the following cir- 
cumstances, as he used to relate it to me : A celebrated firm 
of seedsmen advertised something remarkable in the way of 
carrots ; and Mr. Hawker, who had long made this root his 
especial study, sent for some seed. He was recommended to 
sow it with some of the best ashes he could procure, and there- 
fore brought out all his sermons one morning on to the vicarage- 
lawn, set fire to the pile, and carefully collected the precious 
remains. The crop was an utter failure ; but the cause thereof, 
on reflection, was most palpable. He remembered that a few 
of old Dr. Hawker's sermons were lying amongst his own ; 
and the conclusion forced upon him was, that his grandfather's 
heterodoxy had lost him hjs crop of carrots." 

He refers to this destruction in another letter to 
Mr. Carnsew : — 

Dec. 6, 1857. My dear Sir, — To-morrow I send for my 
last load of materials for building, the close of a long run of 
outlay extending through nearly thirty years. Bude, Whitstone, 
Trebarrow, Morwenstow, have been the scenes of my architect- 
ure. Old Mr. Dan King once said to me, as he looked down 
on my house, ' Ha ! fools build houses, and wise men inhabit 
them.' — 'Just so,' said I, unwilling to be outdone even in can- 
dor, — 'just so: as wise men make proverbs, and fools quote 
them ? ' And then we both grunted. Anderson writes that 
he has bought a cottage of yours. I am glad of it for his wife's 
sake. I wrote to him offering a young pig of mine, and twelve 
MS. sermons, for a young boar of the same age ; and, do you 
know, he has taken me at my word. So I am to send him my 
MSS., and to fetch the boar. Did I ever tell you that I once 
dressed a drill of turnips for experiment with sermon-ashes (I 
had been burning a large lot), and it was a complete failure ? 
Barren, all barren, like most modern discourses ; not even post- 
humous energy. 



252 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

The sermon that is spoken of by Mr. Valentine 
was on the general resurrection, and was preached 
at the " Revel," Midsummer Day. 

One of his sermons which is remembered to this 
day was on the text, Gen. xxii. 5 : " Abide ye here 
with the ass ; and I and the lad will go yonder and 
worship, and come again to you." 

He pointed out in this sermon, how that in Mor- 
wenstow and many other villages, the church is situ- 
ated at some distance from the congregation. At 
Okehampton the church is on a hill, and the town 
lies below it in the valley. At Brent-tor it is planted 
on the apex of a volcanic cone, rising out of a high 
table-land ; and the cottages of which it is the parish 
church lie in combes far away, skirting the moor. 
At Morwenstow it stands above the sea, without a 
house near it save the vicarage and one little farm. 
This, said he, was no bit of management, but was 
done purposely, that those who went up to Jerusa- 
lem to worship might have time to compose their 
thoughts, and frame their souls aright for the holy 
services in which they were about to engage. 

Is it a trouble to go so far .-' X)oes it cost many 
paces ? Yea ! but an angel counts the paces that 
lead to the house of God, and records them all in 
heaven. 

" Abide ye here with the ass," away from the hill 
of the Lord, from the place of sacrifice ; tarry, dumb 
ass and hireling, whilst the son goes on under the 
guidance of his father. The poor hireling, not one of 
the family ; the unbaptized, no son ; and the coarse, 
brutal nature, the ass, — they stay away : they have 



SOME SERMONS. 253 

no inclination, no call, to go up to the house of God. 
" Abide ye here with the ass ; and I and the lad will 
go yonder and worship." 

Another remembered sermon was on the text. 
Matt. X. 2-4 : " Now, the names of the twelve apostles 
are these : the first, Simon, who is called Peter, and 
Andrew his brother ; James the son of Zebedee, 
and John his brother ; Philip, and Bartholomew ; 
Thomas, and Matthew the publican ; James the son 
of Alphaeus, and Lebbaeus, whose surname was 
Thaddaeus ; Simon the Canaanite, and Judas Iscariot, 
who also betrayed him." 

On this he preached a magnificent discourse on 
the Church built on the co-equal twelve, but leaning 
on its great Corner-Stone, Christ. 



254 ^J^P^ OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 



CHAPTER X. 

The First Mrs. Hawker. — Her Influence over her Husband. — Anxiety about 
her Health. — His Fits of Depression. — Letter on the Death of Sir 
Thomas D. Acland. — Reads Novels to his Wife. — His Visions. — Mys- 
ticism. — Death of his Wife. — Unhappy Condition. — Burning of his 
Papers. — Meets with his Second Wifs. — The Unburied Dead. — Birth 
of his Child. — Ruinous Condition of his Church. — Goes to London. — 
Sickness. — Goes to Boscastle. — To Plymouth. — His Death and Fune- 
ral. — Conclusion. 

Mrs. Hawker was a very accomplished and 
charming old lady, who thoroughly understood and 
appreciated her husband. She was a woman of a 
poetical, refined mind, with strong sense of humor, 
and sound judgment. The latter quality was of 
great advantage, as it was an element conspicuously 
absent in the composition of her husband. 

She translated from the German, with great ele- 
gance, the story of Guido Goerres, the " Manger of 
the Holy Night ; " and it was published by Burns in 
1847. The verses in it were turned with grace and 
facility. Another of her books was " Follow Me," 
a Morality from the German, published by Burns, in 
1844. 

The author remembers this charming old lady, 
some fifteen years ago, then blind, very aged, with 
hair white as snow, full of cheerfulness and genial- 



THE FIRST MRS. HAWKER. 255 

ity, laughing over her husband's jokes, and drawing 
him out with a subtle skill, to show himself to his 
best advantage. In his fits of depression she was 
invaluable to him, always at his side, encouraging 
him, directing his thoughts to pleasant topics, and 
bringing merriment back to the eye which had dulled 
with despondency. 

Ash Wednesday, 1853. My dear Mrs. M. , — Among 

my acts of self-research to-day one has regarded you, the wife 
of one of the very few whom I would really call my friends. 
Since my days of sorrow came, and self-abasement, I have 
shrunk too much into myself, and too much regarded the 
breath that is in the nostrils of my fellows. But what have I 
not been made to suffer? But — and I have sworn it as a vow 
— if my God grants me the life of poor dear Charlotte, all shall 
be borne cheerfully. Beyond that horizon I have not a hope, a 
thought, a prayer. And now I feel relieved at having written 
this. It lifts a load to tell it to you, as I should long ago to 
your guileless husband had he been here to listen. But he is 
gone to be happier than we, and would wonder, if he read this, 
why I grieve. And then how basely have those who vaunted 
themselves as my friends dealt with me ! All this I unfold to 
you for my relief. Do you please not to say a word about 
... or any thing to vex or harass Charlotte. She is, I thank 
God, well and quiet. We hardly ever go out, save for exercise, 
in the parish. My thoughts go down in MS., of which I have 
drawers full. But I print no more.* 

The friend to whose widow he thus writes died in 
1846. He then wrote to a relative this note of sym- 
pathy : — 

" Your letter has filled us with deep and sincere sorrow. 
We feared that our friend was sincerely ill, but we were not 
prepared for so immediate an accession of grief. That he was 

1 It is to be sincerely hoped that his widow will publish a volume of these 



256 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

ready to be dissolved, I doubt not, and to be with Christ I am 
equally satisfied. He, already, I trust, prays for us all effectu- 
ally." 

There was ever a sad undertone in Mr. Hawker's 
character. He felt his isolation in mind from all 
around him. His best companions were the waves 
and clouds. He lived " the ever alone," as he calls 
himself in one of his letters, solitary in the Morwen- 
stow ark, with only the sound of waters about him. 
"The Lord shut him in." 

With all his brightness and vivacity, there was 
constantly " cropping up " a sad and serious vein, 
which showed itself sometimes in a curious fashion. 
"This is as life seems to you," he would say, as he 
bade his visitor look at the prospect through a pane 
of ruby-tinted glass, " all glowing and hopeful. And 
this is as I see it," he would add, turning to a pane 
of yellow, "gray and wintry and faded. But keep 
your ruby days as long as you can." 

He wrote on Jan. 2, 1868 : — 

" Wheresoever you may be, this letter will follow you, and 
with it our best and most earnest prayers for your increased 
welfare of earthly and heavenly hopes in this and many succeed- 
ing new years. How solemn a thing it is to stand before the 
gate of another year, and ask the oracles what will this ensuing 
cluster of the months unfold ! But, if we knew, perhaps it 
would make life what a Pagan Greek called it, ' a shuddering 
thing.' We have had, through the approach to us of the Gulf 
Stream, with its atmospheric arch of warm and rarefied air, a 
sad succession of cyclones, or, as our homely phrase renders it, 
'shattering sou'westers,' reminding us of what was said to be 
the Cornish wreckers' toast in bygone days, — 
' A billowy sea and a shattering wind. 
The cliffs before, and the gale behind,' — 

But, thank God, no wrecks yet on our iron shore." 



HIS WIFE'S BLINDNESS. 257 

The following letter was written to Mrs. Mills, 
daughter of Sir Thomas D. Acland, on the death of 
her father ; a letter which will touch the hearts of 
many a " West Country man " who has loved his 
honored name. 

MoRWENSTOW, July 27, 1 87 1. My dear Mrs. Mills, — The 
knowledge of your great anguish at Killerton has only just 
reached us. How deeply we feel it, I need not tell : although 
long looked for, it smote me like a sudden blow. Yet we must 
not mourn " for him, but for ourselves and our children." " It 
shall come to pass, at eventide there shall be light." The good 
and faithful servant had borne the burden and the heat of the 
day ; and at set of sun he laid him down, and slept. My heart 
and my eyes are too full to write. May his God and our God 
bless and sustain yours and you ! My poor dear wife, who is ill, 
offers you her faithful love ; and I shall pray this night for him 
■who is gone before, and for those who tarry yet a little while. 
I am, dear Mrs. Mills, yours faithfully and affectionately, 

R. S. Hawker. 

During his wife's blindness, and the gentle fading 
away of a well-spent, God-fearing life, nothing could 
be more unremitting than the attention of Mr. 
Hawker. He read to her a great part of the day, 
brought her all the news of the neighborhood, strove 
in every way to make up to her for the deprivation 
of her sight. 

He had a ten-guinea subscription to Mudie's Li- 
brary, and whole boxes of novels arrived at the vic- 
arage : these he diligently read to her as she sat, 
her arm-chair wheeled to the window out of which 
she could no more see, or by the fireside where the 
logs flickered. 

But though he read with his lips, and followed with 



258 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

his eyes, his eager mind was far away in that won- 
drous dreamland where his mental life was spent. 
After he had diligently read through the three vol- 
umes of some popular novel, he was found to be 
ignorant of the plot, to know nothing of the charac- 
ters, and to have no conception even of the names of 
hero and heroine. These stories interested him in 
no way : they related to a world of which he knew 
little, and cared less. Whilst he read, his mind was 
following some mystic weaving of a dance, in the 
air, of gulls and swallows ; tracing parables in the 
flowers that dotted his sward ; or musing over some 
text of Holy Scripture. To be on the face of his 
cliff, to sit hour by hour in his little hut of wreck- 
wood, with the boiling Atlantic before him, sunk in 
dream or meditation, was his delight. Or, kneeling 
in his gloomy chancel, poring over the sacred page, 
meditating, he would go off into strange trances, and 
see sights : Morwenna, gleaming before him with pale 
face, exquisitely beautiful, and golden hair, and deep 
blue eyes, telling him where she lay, drawing him on 
to chivalrous love, like Aslauga in Fouque's exquisite 
tale. Or, he saw angels ascending and descending 
in his dark chancel, and heard "a noise of hymns." 

" A gentle sound, an awful light ! 

Three angels bear the holy Grail. 
With folded feet, in stoles of white, 
On sleeping wings they sail. 

Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! 

My spirit beats her mortal bars, 
As down dark tides the glory slides. 

And star-like mingles with the stars." 



MYSTIC TENDENCIES. 259 

We have seen hitherto the sparkHng merriment of 
his Hfe ; but this was the flashing of the surface of a 
character that rolled on its mysterious, unfathomable 
way. 

To him the spiritual world was intensely real : he 
had in him the makings of a mystic. The outward 
world, the carnal flesh, he looked upon with contempt, 
with almost the disgust of a Manichaean. The spirit- 
ual life was the real life : the earthly career was a 
passing, troubled dream, that teased the soul, and 
broke its contemplations. The true aim of man was 
to disentangle his soul from the sordid cares of 
earth, and to raise it on the wings of meditation and 
prayer to union with God. Consequently the true 
self is the spiritual man : this none but the spiritual 
man can understand. The vicar accommodated him- 
self to ordinary society, but he did not belong to it. 
His spirit hovered high above in the thin, clear air, 
whilst his body and earthly mind laughed, and joked, 
and labored, and sorrowed below. Trouble was the 
anguish of the soul recalling its prerogative. The 
fits of depression which came on him were the mo- 
ments when the soul was asserting its true power, 
pining as the captive for its home and proper freedom. 

It will be seen that nothing but his intense grasp 
of the doctrine of the Incarnation saved him from 
drifting into the wildest vagaries of mysticism. 

He would never open out to any one who he thought 
was not spiritually-minded. 

A commonplace neighboring parson, visiting him 
once, asked him what were his views and opinions. 

Mr. Hawker drew him to the window. " There," 



26o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

said he, " is Hennacliff, there the Atlantic stretching 
to Labrador, there Morwenstow crag, here the church 
and graves : these are my views. As to my opinions, 
I keep them to myself." 

The flame, after long flickering in the breast of his 
dearly loved wife, went out at length on Feb. 2, 1863. 
She died at the age of eighty-one. 

He had a grave — a double grave — made outside 
the chancel, beside the stone that marks where an 
ancient priest of Morwenstow lies, and placed over 
her a stone with this inscription : — 

HERE RESTS THE BODY OF 

CHARLOTTE E. HAWKER. 

for nearly forty years the wife of one of the 
vicars of this church. 

She died Feb. 2, 1863. 

There is sprung up a light for the righteous, and joyful gladness for such as 
are true-hearted. 

The text had reference to her blindness. 

At the bottom of the stone is a blank space left 
for his own name, and a place was made by his own 
orders at the side of his wife for his own body. 

Morwenstow, Oct. 16, 1864. My dear Mrs. M , — I 

have intended every day to make an effort, and go down to 
Bude to see you, and to thank you for all your kindness to me 
in my desolate abode ; but I am quite unequal to the attempt. 
If you return next year, and you will come, you will find me, if 
I am alive, keeping watch and ward humbly and faithfully by 
the place where my dead wife still wears her ring in our quiet 
church. If I am gone, I know you will come and stand by the 

stone where we rest. My kindest love to Mr. M and your 

happy little children." 



INTENSE DEPRESSION. 26 1 

After the death of Mrs. Hawker, he fell into a 
condition of piteous depression, and began to eat 
opium. He moped about the cliffs, or in his study, 
and lost interest in every thing. Sciatica added to 
his misery. 

He took it into his head that he could eat nothing 
but clotted cream. He therefore made his meals, 
breakfast, dinner, and tea, of this. He became con- 
sequently exceedingly bilious, and his depression 
grew the greater. 

He was sitting, crying like a child, one night over 
his papers, when there shot a spark from the fire 
among those strewn at his feet. He did not notice 
it particularly, but went to bed. After he had gone 
to sleep, his papers were in a flame : the flame com- 
municated itself to a drawer full of MSS., which he 
had pulled out, and not thrust into its place again ; 
and the house would probably have been burnt down, 
had not a Methodist minister seen the blaze through 
the window, as he happened to be on the hill oppo- 
site. He gave the alarm, the inmates of the vicarage 
were aroused, and the fire was arrested. 

Probably much of his MS. poetry, and jottings of 
ideas passing through his head, were thus lost. "Oh, 
dear ! " was his sad cry, " if Charlotte had been here 
this would never have happened." 

The vicar had brain-fever shortly afterwards, and 
was in danger ; but he gradually recovered. 

A friend tells me that during the time that he was 
a widower, the condition he was in was most sad. 
His drawing-room, which used to be his delight, full 
of old oak furniture, and curiosities from every corner 



262 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

of the world, was undusted and neglected. The ser- 
vants, no longer controlled by a mistress, probably 
did not attend properly to the comforts of the master. 

However, a new interest grew up in his heart. It 
was fortunate that matters did not remain long in 
this condition. It was neither well nor wise that the 
old man should linger on the rest of his days without 
a "helpmeet for him," to attend to his comforts, be a 
companion in his solitude, and a solace in his fits of 
depression. The Eastern Church is very strong 
against the second marriage of priests. No man 
who has had a second wife is admitted by the ortho- 
dox communion to holy orders. But Mr. Hawker 
was about, and very fortunately for his own comfort 
in this matter, to shake off the trammels of his Ori- 
entalism. 

Previous to the death of his first wife, he had some 
good stories to tell of men, who, when the first wife 
was dead, forgot her speedily for a second. One be- 
longs to the Cornish moors, and may therefore be 
here inserted. 

A traveller was on his way over the great dorsal 
moorland that runs the length of Cornwall. He had 
lost his way. It was a time of autumn equinoctial 
storm. The day declined, and nothing was to be 
seen save sweeps of moor, broken only by huge 
masses of granite ; not a church-tower broke the 
horizon, not a dog barked from a distant farm. 

After long and despairing wanderings in search of 
a road or house, the traveller was about to proceed 
to a pile of granite, and bury himself among the 
rocks for shelter during the night, when a sudden 



A TERRIFIED TRAVELLER. 263 

burst of revelry smote his ear from the other side of 
the hill. He hasted with beating heart in the direc- 
tion whence came the sounds, and soon found a soli- 
tary house, in which all the inhabitants were making 
merry. He asked admission and a lodging for the 
night. He was invited in, and given a hearty wel- 
come. The owner of the house had just been mar- 
ried, and brought home his bride. The house, there- 
fore, could furnish him with plenty of food ; saffron 
cakes abounded : but a bed was not to be had, as 
brothers and cousins had been invited, and the only 
place where the traveller could be accommodated was 
a garret. This was better than a bed on the moor, 
and the stormy sky for the roof ; and he accepted the 
offer with eagerness. 

After the festivities of the evening were over, he 
retired to his attic, and lay down on a bed of hay, 
shaken for him on the floor. But he could not sleep. 
The moon shone in through a pane of glass let into 
the roof, and rested on a curious old chest which 
was thrust away in a corner. Somehow or other, 
this chest engrossed his attention, and excited his 
imagination. It was of carved oak, and handsome. 
Why was it put away in a garret 1 What did it 
contain .-' He became agitated and nervous. He 
thought he heard a sigh issue from it. He sat up on 
the hay, and trembled. Still the moonbeam streaked 
the long black box. 

Again his excited fancy made him believe he heard 
a sigh issue from it. Unable to endure suspense any 
longer, he stole across the floor to the side of the 
garret where stood the box, and with trembling hand 



264 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

he raised the hd. The moonbeam fell on the face of 
a dead woman, lying in her winding-sheet in the 
chest. He let the lid drop, with a scream of fear, 
and fainted away. When he came to himself, the 
bride and bridegroom, brothers and cousins, sur- 
rounded him in the attic, in somewhat d^gagi cos- 
tume, as they had tumbled from their beds, in alarm 
at the shriek which had awakened them. 

"What is it .-^ What have you seen .^ " was asked 
on all sides. 

" In that chest," gasped the traveller, " I saw a 
corpse ! " 

There was a pause. Slowly — for the mind of an 
agriculturist takes time to act — the bridegroom ar- 
rived at a satisfactory explanation. His face re- 
mained for three minutes clouded with thought, as 
he opened and explored the various chambers of 
memory. At length a gleam of satisfaction illumed 
his countenance, and he broke into a laugh and an 
explanation at once. "Lor', you needn't trouble 
yourself : it's only my first wife, as died last Christ- 
mas. You see, the moors were covered with snow, 
and the land frozen, so we couldn't take her to be 
buried at Camelford, and accordingly we salted her in 
till the thaw shu'd come; and rm darned if I hadn t 
forgotten all about her, so the old gal's never been 
buried yet." 

" So, you see," Mr. Hawker would say, when tell 
ing the story, " in Cornwall we do things differently 
from elsewhere. It is on record that the second wife 
is wedded before the first wife is buried." 

There is a Devonshire version of this story told of 



HIS SECOND MARRIAGE. 265 

Dartmoor ; but it wants the point of the Cornish 
tale. 

The Rev. W. Valentine, vicar of Whixley in York- 
shire, bought Chapel House, in the parish, in the 
October of 1863, and, having obtained two years' 
leave of absence from the Bishop of Ripon, came 
there into residence. He brought with him, as gov- 
erness to his children, a young Polish lady. Miss 
Kuczynski. Her father had been a Polish noble, 
educated at the Jesuit university of Wilna, who, hav- 
ing been mixed up with one of the periodical revolts 
against Russian domination, had been obliged to fly 
his native country, and take refuge in England. He 
received a pension from the British government, and 
office under the Master of the Rolls. He married a 
Miss Newton, and by her had two children, Stanis- 
laus and Pauline. 

On the death of Count Kuczynski, his widow mar- 
ried a Mr. Stevens, an American merchant. He lost 
greatly by the war between the Northern and South- 
ern States, and Miss Kuczynski was obliged to enter 
the family of an English clergyman as governess to 
his children. She had been recently under Unitarian 
influences : she was now brought in contact with the 
teaching and ceremonies of the Anglican Church, and 
acquiesced in them. 

Mr. Hawker, as vicar of the parish in which Chapel 
stands, made the acquaintance of this lady of birth 
and education. A sunbeam shone into his dark, 
troubled life, and lighted it with hope. He was mar- 
ried to her in December, 1864, "by a concurrence of 
events manifestly providential," he wrote to a dear 



266 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

friend. " Her first position was in the family of Mr. 
Valentine, who so recently arrived in my parish of 
Morwenstow. There I saw and understood her 
character ; but it was not her graceful person and 
winning demeanor that so impressed me, as her 
strong intellect, high principle, and similitude of 
tastes with my own. She won my people before she 
won me ; and it was a saying among my simple- 
hearted parishioners, ' Oh, if Miss Kuczynski would 
but be mistress at vicarage!' "Her friends, as was 
natural, objected to the marriage ; but I went to town, 
saw them, and returned hither Pauline's husband." 

His marriage had one good effect on him imme- 
diately. He for a time gave up opium-eating. His 
spirits rose, and he seemed to be entirely, supremely 
happy. 

In November, 1865, he was given a daughter, to 
be the light and joy of his eyes. He says in a letter 
dated Nov. 30, 1865, — 

" The kind interest you have taken in us induces me to think 
that you may be glad to hear, that, just before midnight on 
Monday, I was given a daughter, — a fair and gentle child, who 
has not up to this time uttered a single peevish sound. As is 
very natural, I think her one of the loveliest infants I ever took 
in my arms. Both child and mother are going on very well, 
and the happiness which the event has brought to my house is 
indeed a blessing. The baby's name is to be Morwenna 
Pauline." 

A second daughter was afterwards given to him, 
Rosalind ; and then a third, who was baptized Juliot, 
after a sister of St. Morwenna, who had a cell and 
founded a church near Boscastle. The arrival of 



RUINOUS CONDITION OF HIS CHURCH. 267 

these heaven-given treasures, however, filled the old 
man's mind with anxiety for the future. The earth 
must soon close over him ; and he would leave a widow 
and three helpless orphans on the world, without 
being able to make any provision for them. This 
preyed on his mind during the last year or two of his 
life. It was a cloud which hung over him, and never 
was lifted off. As he walked, he moaned to himself. 
He saw no possibility of securing them a future of 
comfort and a home. He could not shake the thought 
off him : it haunted him day and night. 

His church also was fallen into a piteous condition 
of disrepair : the wooden shingle wherewith he had 
roofed it some years before was rotten, and let in the 
water in streams. The pillars were green with 
lichen, the side of the tower bulged, and discolored 
water oozed forth. A portion of the plaster of the 
ceiling fell ; storms tore out the glass of his windows. 

In 1872 he sent forth the following appeal to all 
his friends : — 

" Jesus said, ' Ye have done it unto me I ' 

" The ancient church of Morwenstow, on the northern shore 
of Cornwall, notwithstanding a large outlay of the present vicar, 
has fallen into dilapidation and disrepair. A great part of the 
oak shingle roof requires to be relaid. The walls must be 
painted anew, and the windows, benches, and floor ought to be 
restored. To fulfil all these purposes, a sum amounting to at 
least five hundred pounds will be required. In the existing 
state of the Church rate law, it would be inexpedient and in- 
effectual to rely on the local succor of the parishioners, although 
there is reason to confide that the usual levy of a penny in the 
pound per annum (sixteen pounds), now granted in aid of other 
resources, would never be withheld. But this church, from the 



268 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

interest attached to its extreme antiquity and its striking fea- 
tures of ecclesiastical attraction, is visited every year by one or 
two hundred strangers from distant places, and from Bude 
Haven in the immediate neighborhood. It appears, therefore, 
to the vicar and his friends, that an appeal for the sympathy 
and the succor of all who value and appreciate the solemn 
beauty and the sacred associations of such a scene might hap- 
pily be fraught with success. A committee, to consist of the 
vicar and church-wardens, of J. Tarratt, Esq., late of Chapel 
House, Morwenstow, and W. Rowe, Esq., solicitor, Stratton, 
will superintend the disposal of the contributions, under the 
control of a competent builder, and account to the subscribers 
for their outlay. 

"And the benediction of God the Trinity will assuredly 
requite every kindly heart and generous hand that shall help to 
restore this venerable sanctuary of the Tamar side." 

A voluntary rate raised ^32 ; an offertory, J[^2. 2s. 
lo^d. ; and he had donations of about ^150 from 
various friends. 

In 1874 he went to London for his health. He 
was very much broken then, suffering in his heart 
and from sciatica. At the same time he resolved to 
preach in such churches as were open to him, for the 
restoration fund of St. Morwenna's sanctuary. His 
dislike to the Ritualist party prevented him from ask- 
ing the use of their pulpits ; and other clergy were 
reluctant to concede to him an offertory, though they 
were ready enough to allow him to preach in their 
churches. 

He wrote to me on the subject : — 

16 Harley Road, South Hamstead, April 20, 1874. — 
My dear Sir, — I am here in quest of medical aid for my wife 
and myself. I am so far better that I can preach, and I am try- 
ing to get offertories here for the restoration of my grand old 



GRADUAL FAILURE OF POWERS. 269 

Morwenstow church. Only one has been granted me thus far, — 
last night at St. Matthias, Brompton, where I won an evening 
offertory "with my sword and with my bow," twenty-two pounds 
eighteen shillings, whereas the average for two years at evensong 
has been under five pounds. But I find the great clergy shy to 
render me the loan of their pulpits. Do you know any one of 
them ? Can you help me ? And about St. Morwenna. Cannot 
I see your proof-sheets of my " Saint's Life," or can you in any 
way help me in the delivery of her legend to London ears ? At 
all events, do write. I seem nearer to you here than at home. 
If you come up, do find us out. I write in haste. 

Yours faithfully, R. S. Hawker. 

The previous October he had written to me from 
his " sick-room, to which I have been confined with 
eczema for full two months." In November he 
wrote, "Ten days in bed helpless." I had been in 
correspondence with him about St. Morwenna not 
being identical with St. Modwenna : his answer was, 
" I have twice received supernatural intimation of 
her identity, by dream and suggestion." 

However, I believe I convinced him in the end. 

16 Harley Road, Hampstead, March 10, 1874. My dear 

Mrs. M , — You may well be astonished at my address ; but 

our journey hither was a matter of life or death to both of us, 
and so far I am the only gainer. Dr. Goodfellow, after a rigid 
scrutiny, has pronounced me free from any perilous organic 
disease, and is of opinion that with rest and a few simple reme- 
dies, " there is work in me yet." . . . Yours faithfully, 

R. S. Hawker. 

But the grand old man was breaking. There was 
pain of body, and much mental anxiety about his 
family. He could not sleep at night : his brain was 
constantly excited by his pecuniary troubles, and the 



270 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

sufferings he endured from his malady. Whether 
by the advice of his doctor, or not, I cannot say, 
but he had recourse to narcotics to allay the pain, 
and procure him rest at night. Mr. C. Hawker writes 
to me : — 

"Towards the close of his life, my brother (I am grieved to 
state it) renewed a habit he had contracted on the death of his 
first wife, but had abandoned, — of taking opium. This had a 
most injurious effect on his nerves : it violently excited him for 
a while, and then cast him into fits of the most profound depres- 
sion. When under this influence he wrote and spoke in the 
wildest and most unreasonable manner, and said things which 
in moments of calmer judgment, I am sure, he bitterly deplored. 
He would at times work himself into the greatest excitement 
about the most trivial matters, over which he would laugh in his 
more serene moments." 

Whilst Mr. Hawker was in London, he called one 
day on some very kind friends, who had a house in 

Bude, but were then in town. Mrs. M , thinking 

that the old man would be troubled at being away 
from his books, very considerately offered to lend 
him any from her own library, which he might take 
a fancy to read. But he said, " All I want is a refer- 
ence Bible. If I have that I care for no other 
books." And he carried off a Bagster's Polyglot 
that lay on the table. 

From London, Mr. Hawker returned to Morwen- 
^tow, to fresh suffering, disappointment, and anxie- 
ties. I give a few of his last letters to one whom he 
regarded as his best friend. 

MoRWENSTOW, Sept. 22, 1874. My dear Valentine, — You 
brought to my house the solitary blessing of my life. My three 
daughters came to me through you, as God's instrument. I 



SICKNESS IN MIND AND BODY. 271 

must write to you. You will not have many more letters from 
me. . . . My mind has been so racked and softened that I shall 
never be myself again. My health, too, is gone. My legs are 
healed, but the long drain has enfeebled me exceedingly. 
Money terrors, too, have reached a climax. I have so many 
claims upon me, that I cannot regard my home as sure, nor my 
roof certain to shelter my dear ones. On the school-building 
account I am responsible for seventy pounds odd, more than I 
have collected from subscribers. ... I have to pay the master 
twelve pounds ten shillings quarterly. But there is one thing 
more, — the curate, whom I must have, for I cannot go on 
serving both churches as I do now, with daily service here. 

T , and his mother, will give me one-half or nearly his 

salary. But besides Dean Lodge there is no house that he 
can live in. Let him rent it until you sell it. I implore you, 
grant this last kindness to me whom you once called a friend. 
My heart is broken. It is a favor you will not have to grant 
me long, as my pausing pulse and my shuddering heart testify. 
Oh, God bless you ! 

Mr. Valentine came to Chapel House, Morwen- 
stow, in October, 1874, and renewed his old warm 
friendship with the vicar. Had there been any 
change in the views of Mr. Hawker, it would cer- 
tainly have been made known to his most intimate 
friend of many years. But Mr, Valentine found him 
the same in faith, though sadly failing in mental and 
bodily power. 

Nov. 13, 1874. My dear Valentine, — You will be sorry to 
hear that over-anxieties and troubles are incessant. First of 

all, no curate. A Mr. H came down from Torquay. He 

had all but agreed to come, but when he saw Dean Lodge he 
declined. He thought it too far to walk to church. I have 
advertised in three papers, but only one applicant. I have in- 
vited him to come and see for himself, but he has not yet ap- 
peared or written. We are so remote and forlorn that unless a 



272 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

man be very sincere and honest there is no inducement. No 
sphere for strut or grimace, or other vanity. Another trouble 
that we have is scarlet and typhus fever both, in several parts 
of the parish. . . . And now I am compeMed to remind you 
that you promised me this month your subscriptions to our 
charities. I want to pay the schoolmaster, this next week, his 
quarter's salary. This will make the adverse balance run to 
nearly fifty pounds against me. It is most ruinous. Upon the 
school-building account I am responsible for sixty-eight pounds 
beyond the subscriptions. . . . 

What a life this is to lead in the flesh ! Mine has been in- 
deed a martyrdom. 

Nov. 17, 1874. My dear Valentine^ . . . One part of your 
letter has troubled our earnest hope. If you would but fulfil 
your suggestion, and come to Dean Lodge, the advantages to 
me would be incalculable. You would not, I know, object to 
help me in the church once a Sunday. I cannot, by any effort, 
obtain a curate. The work — thrice a day on Sunday — is kill- 
ing me, and your presence would soothe the dreadful depres- 
sion into which I am sinking fast. Make any effort, I do 
entreat you, to come. The cry after your last appearance in 
church 2 was, that no sermon had been heard in church for a 
long time equal to yours : not very complimentary to me, but 
that I don't mind. Come ! any thing you want at Dean, that 
we have, you are most welcome to have from us. Your pres- 
ence in the parish will be ample compensation. Come, I do 
entreat you, and gladden us by deciding at once, and telling us 
so. I shall have hope then of getting over the winter, which 
now I cannot realize. My great terror is that I have all but 
lost the power of sleep. I cannot rest in bed quietly above two 
or three hours. Now, it would be cruel to awaken hope, and 
crush it again. You shall have horses and carriage, and any 
thing you want. 

At Christmas he was very ill, and thought that 
life's last page was being turned, and that before the 

1 Then returned to Yorkshire, 2 in the previous month, October. 



GOES TO BOSCASTLE. 273 

daisies re-appeared in Morwenstow churchyard he 
would be resting in his long home. 

But he got slowly better. On April 28, 1875, he 
was still in trouble about a curate, and wrote to Mr. 
Valentine, begging him to allow him to take Dean 
Lodge, and make it a cottage for his curate. " Write 
to me at once," he said, " to relieve my poor broken 
mind of one of \\\q pressures which are now dragging 
it down. Pray write immediately, because my second 
letter must have apprised you how unable I am in my 
present shattered state. And mind, I rely on you 
for standing by me in these, my last trials." 

In June Mr. Hawker went for change, with his 
wife and children, and a lady, the companion of Mrs. 
Hawker, who was staying with them, to Boscastle, 
to visit his brother at Penally. 

Did any prevision of what would take place pass 
before his mind's eye ere he left his beloved Mor- 
wenstow } Had he any thought that he was taking 
his last look at the quiet combe, with its furze and 
heather slopes, the laughing, sparkling, blue sea that 
lashed the giant cliffs on which St. Morwenna had 
planted her foot, cross in hand .'' We cannot tell. 
It is certain that it had been all along his wish to lay 
him down to rest in his old church. The grave made 
for his wife was, by his orders, made double ; a space 
was left on the stone for his name ; and he often 
spoke of his desire to be laid there, and made a 
friend promise, that, should he by accident die away 
from Morwenstow, he would fetch his body, and lay 
him there. 

When he heard that it was illegal to be buried 



2 74 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

inside the church, he pointed out a place under the 
east wall of his chancel where he wished to be laid ; 
but he hoped that, owing to the remoteness of Mor- 
wenstow, no difficulty would be raised about his 
being laid in the grave he had prepared for himself 
in the church where he had ministered so long. 

Is it to be wondered at, that now there are Mor- 
wenstow people who say, that, since his death, they 
have seen the old man standing at the head of the 
stone that covers his wife, looking mournfully at the 
blank space where he had hoped his name would be 
cut ; and that others, who have not seen him, aver 
that they have heard his familiar sighs and moans 
from the same spot ? 

Whilst he was at Boscastle he was neither mentally 
nor bodily himself. His brother, Mr. Claud Hawker, 
writes to me that he was often in a state approach- 
ing stupor. " When he came down here in August 
he was very ill, and certainly broken in his mind, 
nearly all the time he was here : he was often in a 
scarce-conscious state." 

Whilst Mr. Hawker and family were staying at 
Penally, Mr. Claud Hawker fell ill, and it was neces- 
sary for them to move out of the house. Mr. Robert 
Hawker would have returned to Morwenstow, had 
not the curate been in the vicarage : then he wished 
to take lodgings at Boscastle, but was persuaded by 
Mrs. Hawker to go to Plymouth. 

His brother writes to me : " Robert came down to 
see me ill in bed. I was ill at the time ; but I could 
see he was not like himself in any way, and it was no 
act of his to go to Plymouth. He declined to do so 



GOES TO PLYMOUTH. 275 

for some time, until at last, most reluctantly, and 
against his better judgment, he was persuaded to do 
so." 

They left on June 29, and took lodgings in Lockyer 
Street, Plymouth. Mr. Robert S. Hawker was still 
very ill and failing. 

The Rev. Prebendary Thynne, rector of Kilk- 
hampton, a near and attached friend of sixteen years, 
was in Plymouth not long before the end, and saw 
the vicar of Morwenstow. He was then agitated 
because he had not been able to be present at the 
Bishop of Exeter's visitation at Stratton, fearing lest 
the bishop should take it as a slight. The rector of 
Kilkhampton quieted him by assuring him that the 
bishop knew how ill he was, and that he was away 
for change of air. Then he brightened up a little, 
but he was any thing but himself. 

The curate of Kilkhampton writes to me: "Mr. 
Hawker complained that we had not invited him to a 
retreat held by one of the Cowley Missioners in the 
same month in which he died. Of course we knew 
that he could not have come, and so did not ask him. 
But surely his making a kind of grievance of it is 
hardly consistent with the idea that even at that time 
he was in heart a Roman Catholic." 

On Sunday, Aug. i, Mr. Hawker went with his 
wife to St. James Church, Plymouth, for morning 
service. The surface was choral, and he much 
enjoyed it. Mrs. Hawker saw him home, and then 
went on to the Roman-Catholic Cathedral, to high 
mass ; and in the evening he accompanied her to 
benediction, and was pleased with the beauty of the 



276 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

service, which to him had all the attractions of nov- 
elty, as he had never travelled abroad, and so was 
unfamiliar with Roman Catholic ritual. The church 
was very solemn, and nicely cared for ; and benedic- 
tion is one of the most touching, popular, and elastic 
of services. 

He was so pleased, that he said he should be quite 
happy to spend a night in the church. 

During the week he began to fail rapidly, and on 
Friday spent the greater part of the day on his bed. 
He suffered from great mental prostration. One 
evening he was got out of the house as far as to the 
Laira, a beautiful creek with the Saltram woods 
beyond, touching the water ; but he was too weak in 
body and depressed in mind to go out for exercise 
again. 

Feeling himself growing weaker, and, as Mrs. 
Hawker wrote to his niece, " with the truth really 
beginning to dawn upon him," he became nervously 
impatient to get away from Plymouth as speedily as 
possible, and to return to the home he loved, hallowed 
by the feet of St. Morwenna, and rendered dear to 
him by the associations of more than forty years. 

But before he left Plymouth, when all had been 
ordered to be in readiness for departure, and notice 
had been given that the lodgings would be left the 
ensuing week, a curious occurrence took place. His 
beloved St. Cuthbert's stole was sent for from Mor- 
wenstow, and a biretta, a distinctively priest's cap, 
was borrowed for him, — a thing he never wore him- 
self, — and he had himself photographed in cassock, 
surplice, stole, and biretta, as a priest. It was his 



LAST PHOTOGRAPH. 277 

last conscious act ; and it certainly looks as though 
it were a solemn testimony that he believed in his 
orders, that he regarded himself as a priest of the 
English Church. This photograph was taken on 
Saturday, Aug. 7 : on Monday, Aug. 9, he was struck 
down with paralysis. 

His action in this matter was the more extraordi- 
nary, as he had at one time manifested an extreme 
repugnance to having his likeness taken. He has 
told me himself that he would have inscribed on his 
tombstone, " Here lies the man who was never pho- 
tographed." For a long time he stubbornly refused 
the most earnest requests to be taken ; and his repug- 
nance was only overcome, at last, by Mrs. Mills 
bringing over a photographer from Bude, in her car- 
riage, to Morwenstow, and insisting on having him 
stand to be taken.' 

It was the old man's last act, and it was a very 
emphatic and significant one. The photograph was 
taken on the very day on which Mrs. Hawker repre- 
sented him as seeing that his end was drawing nigh. 
Every preparation was made for departure, the boxes 
were packed, and all was ready, on Monday ; his im- 
patience to be gone rapidly growing. 

Mrs. Hawker wrote to his nephew at Whitstone, 
eight miles from Stratton, to say that they would 
lunch with him on Tuesday, the loth, on their way 



1 The photographs taken on this occasion were by Mr. Thorn of Bude 
Haven. The most admirable one is of Mr. Hawker standing m his porch to 
receive visitors. He was, however, afterwards taken by Mr. Thorn at Bude, 
with his wife and children. That of him in surplice and stole is by Mr. 
Hawke of Plymouth. 



278 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

back from Plymouth to Morwenstow, intending to 
drive the distance in the day. 

He never came, nor was the reason known till it 
was too late for his nephew to see him. 

On Monday evening, when all was ready for de- 
parture on the morrow, about seven o'clock, Mrs. 
Hawker saw her husband's left hand turn dead, 
white, and cold. Perceiving that he had a paralytic 
stroke, she sent immediately for a surgeon. On the 
morrow, Tuesday, the day on which the old man's 
face was to have been turned homewards, it became 
evident that his face was set to go towards a happier 
and an eternal home. 

It was then clear that there was no return for him 
to Morwenstow ; and the lodgings were taken on for 
another week, which would probably see the close of 
the scene. 

On that evening Mrs. Hawker wrote to his sister, 
Mrs. Kingdon, a very aged lady at Holsworthy, to 
tell her that her brother had had a stroke, and that 
the medical attendant had "forbid him doing any 
duty if he goes back to Morwenstow. ... Of course 
the knowledge that he can be no longer of use at 
Morwenstow is a terrible blow to his mind." She 
also requested Mrs. Kingdon to keep his sickness a 
profound secret from every one. At Whitstone he 
was in vain expected, day after day, for lunch. Nor 
were his brother and niece at Boscastle aware that 
his illness was serious, and that life was ebbing fast 
away, till all was over. 

Mr. Claud Hawker informs me that even on that 
Tuesday, when he learned that he must not take 



LAST SICKNESS. 279 

duty again in his loved church, he was restless to be 
off, and would not have the things unpacked. On 
that day one of the arteries of the left arm with the 
pulse had stopped. On Wednesday the companion 
of Mrs. Hawker, who helped to nurse him, was satis- 
fied that he knew her, and seemed to be pleased with 
her attentions. His wife ministered to him with the 
most devoted tenderness, and would allow no hired 
nurse near him, nor even one of the servants of the 
house to invade the room, so jealous is love of lavish- 
ing all its powers on the object of affection. On 
Thursday his pulse was weaker, and consciousness 
scarcely manifested itself. His solicitor from Strat- 
ton had been telegraphed for, and arrived on that 
day : he was informed by Mrs. Hawker that her hus- 
band was quite unconscious, and not fit to see any 
one. Understanding that there was no chance of 
Mr. Hawker recovering sufficiently to discuss final 
arrangements of money affairs, and that it was there- 
fore useless to stay in Plymouth, he returned to 
Stratton. 

Mrs. Hawker and her friend, finding themselves 
unable to raise the sick man in bed, sent for his 
servant-man from Morwenstow ; and he arrived on 
Friday. His master recognized him, and gave tokens 
of pleasure at seeing him at his side. The same 
evening he knew the medical man who attended him, 
and said a word or two to him in a faint whisper ; 
but his brain was in part paralyzed, and he hovered 
between consciousness and torpor, like a flickering 
flame, or the state of a man between sleeping and 
waking. 



28o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

On Saturday morning Mrs. Hawker informed him 
that she was going to send for the Roman Catholic 
Canon Mansfield to see him. She believed that he 
seemed pleased; and, as so often happens shortly 
before death, a slight rally appeared to have taken 
place. 

During the day he murmured familiar psalms and 
the "Te Deum." ^ 

In the evening at half-past eight o'clock he was 
visited. He was in a comatose condition ; and, if 
able to recognize his visitor, it was only that the 
recognition might fade away instantaneously, and he 
lapsed again into a condition of torpor. 

It was then clear that Mr. Hawker had not many 
hours to live. At ten o'clock at night Canon Mans- 
field was introduced into the dying man's chamber ; 
and the sacraments of baptism, penance, extreme 
unction, and communion, four in all, were adminis- 
tered in succession. 

During the night his groans were very distressing, 
and seemed to indicate that he was in great suffering. 
At eight o'clock next morning he was lifted up in 
his bed to take a cup of tea, with bread sopped in it. 
A change passed over his face, and he was laid gently 
back on the pillow, when his spirit fled. 

" Youth, manhood, old age, past, 
Come to thy God at last ! " 

1 Through the kindness of Mr. Hawker's relatives, I have been furnished 
with every letter that passed on the subject of his death, and reception into the 
Roman communion. In not one of them is it asserted that he asked to have 
Canon Mansfield sent for : the last expression of a wish was, that he might go 
back to Morwenstow. 



THE FUNERAL. 281 

The funeral took place on Wednesday, Aug. 18. 
The body had been transferred to the Roman Catho- 
lic Cathedral the night before. At ten a.m. a solemn 
requiem mass was sung by the Very Rev. Canon 
Woollet, the vicar-general of the titular diocese. 
Around the coffin were six lighted candles, and a 
profusion of flowers. 

During the playing of the "Dead March in Saul," 
and the tolling of the church-bell, the coffin was re- 
moved to the hearse, to be conveyed to the Plymouth 
cemetery. The coffin was of oak, with a plain brass 
cross on it, and bore the inscription : — 

ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

FOR 41 YEARS VICAR OF MORWENSTOW, 

WHO DIED IN THE CATHOLIC FAITH, 

ON THE FEAST OF THE ASSUMPTION OF OUR BLESSED LADY, 

1875. 

Requiescat in Pace. Amen. 

It is far from my intention to enter into contro- 
versy over the last sad transaction in the life of him 
whose memoir I have written. The facts are as I 
have stated, and might have been made clearer had 
I been at liberty to use certain letters, which I have 
seen, but am not allowed to quote. 

Much allowance must be made for the love of a 
devoted wife, caring above all things for the welfare 
of a husband's soul, and believing that she was acting 
so as to best insure its future felicity, and re-union 
with herself when it should please God to. call her. 



282 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

Not one ungenerous or unkind word would I speak 
to wound a widow's sacred feelings ; and I am con- 
tent to see in this last transaction another proof of 
that passionate, adoring love towards her husband 
which marked her whole married career. 

According to Roman-Catholic doctrine, there is no 
salvation for those who die outside the Church, 
unless they have remained in ignorance of Catholic 
verities. No such plea could be urged in the case 
of Mr. Hawker ; and therefore, from the point of 
view of a Romanist, his damnation was assured. We 
must view these matters in the light in which they 
would present themselves to the mind of a Roman 
Catholic, before we pass sentence on an act which 
from our point of view seems of questionable mo- 
rality. 

Nor must Canon Mansfield be harshly judged. A 
Roman-Catholic priest is bound by the rules of his 
Church, and in doubtful cases by the decisions of 
eminent canonists. The " Rituale Romanum " for 
the baptism of adults provides for the baptism of 
those who are unconscious, and even raving mad, on 
the near approach of death, if there have appeared 
in them, when conscious, a desire for baptism ; ' and 
the apparent satisfaction expressed by Mr. Hawker's 

1 De Baptismo Adultorum. — " Amentes et furiosi non baptizentur, nisi 
tales a nativitate fuerint : tunc etiam de iis judicium faciendum est, quod de 
infantibus atque in fide Ecclesiae baptizari possunt. Sed si diliicida habeant 
intervalla, dum mentis compotes sunt, baptizentur, si velint. Si vero antequani 
insanirent, suscipiendi Baptism! desiderium ostenderint, ac vitas periculum 
immineat, etiamsi 7ion sint compotes tnentis, baptizentur. Idemque dicendum 
est de eo, qui lethargo aut phrenesi laborat, ut tantum vigilans et intelligens 
baptizetur, nisi periculum mortis impendeat, si in eo prius apparuerit Baptisnii 
desiderium." 



DEATH-BED BAPTISMS. 283 

face on Saturday morning was sufficient to express 
acquiescence, passive if not active. How far he 
was aware of what was proposed, with his brain 
partly paralyzed, is open to question. However, in 
the case of such a sickness, the patient is regarded 
in the same light as an infant, and passive acquies- 
cence is admitted as sufficient to justify the adminis- 
tration of the sacrament. 

Dens, a great authority, in his "Theologia Moralis 
et Dogmatica," says that in the case of those who 
are out of their mind, with no prospect of a lucid 
interval, — which would, of course, include the period 
of unconsciousness before death, — baptism may be 
administered, if there be reason to conjecture that 
the patient desired it when of sound mind. And, as 
no proofs are laid down for testing the desire, the 
rule is a very elastic one.^ 

Billuart, however, asserts that, for the sacrament 
of penitence, full consciousness is necessary, as an 
act of penitence is an essential part of it ; so that, 
though a man may be baptized who is insane or un- 
conscious, such a man cannot be absolved. Marchan- 
tius, in his " Candelabrum Mysticum," lays down 
that a man may be baptized when drunk, as well as 
when unconscious, or raving mad, if he had before 
shown a disposition to receive the sacrament. 

Practically, no doubt, moved by desire to assure 

1 Dens : Theologia Moralis et Dogmatica, Tract, de Sacramentis in 
Genere, § 45. — " De iis, qui quandoque habuerunt usum rationis, sed jam eo 
carent, judicanda est dispositio secundum voluntatem et dispositionem quam 
habuerunt sanae mentis existentes. Observandum tamen, quod, si aliquando 
habeant lucida intervalla, tunc Sacramentum eis non sit ministrandum extra 
necessitatem, nisi dum mentis compotes sunt." 



284 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

the salvation of the patient, Roman-Catholic clergy 
will charitably trust to there being a disposition, on 
very slight grounds. The following instance will 
show this, communicated to me by a learned English 
divine : " Some time ago a lady wrote to me for 
counsel, on this ground. Her father-in-law, a very 
aged man, a Unitarian, had died whilst she was help- 
ing to nurse him, and had been unconscious for some 
days before his death. A very well-known and dis- 
tinguished Roman Catholic wrote a letter to her, 
which she forwarded to me to read, blaming her very 
severely for not having seized the opportunity for 
baptizing him, on the ground that he might have 
changed his views, and viight have desired baptism, 
and that the sacrament, so administered, would have 
been his passport to heaven. She consulted me as 
to her blameworthiness, and as to whether she had, 
in fact, to reproach herself with a failure of duty. I 
replied in the negative, and stated that the purely 
mechanical view of the sacrament taken by her cor- 
respondent was, to say the least, highly untheological. 
I do not give the names, but you may cite me as 
having supplied you with this fact, which happened 
this year (1875)." 

A case was brought before my notice also, of a 
man being baptized when dying in a condition of 
delirium tremens. To the English mind such a case 
is very shocking, but it is one provided for by Mar- 
chantius. In this case it was conjectured that the 
man had desired baptism into the Roman com- 
munion : he had previously been a member, though 
an unworthy one, of the English Church, and had 
shown no desire of secession. 



DEATH-BED BAPTISMS. 285 

A letter appeared in " The Western Morning 
News " from " A Priest's Wife," which I quote in 
part; not that I wish to bring forward subjects of 
contention in any spirit of bitterness, but to show 
that Canon Mansfield was not acting contrary to 
what the formularies of his Church enjoin, nor to 
the rules laid down by eminent canonists, nor to the 
current practice of those of the communion to which 
he belongs. I omit from the letter only such pas- 
sages as are offensive to courtesy. 

Sir, — Some years ago I was staying in a village in one of 
our midland counties, where the squire, his family, and retainers 
were Roman Catholics. The wife of one of the squire's servants 
had resisted all inducements to forsake the Church of England, 
and clung faithfully to its ministrations during a long life, 
towards the close of which she was debarred by extreme weak- 
ness from attendance at any of the public offices of that Church. 
The rector, or his curate, however, administered the Holy 
Communion to her monthly ; and either one of them, or some 
member of their families, visited her weekly. To all of these, 
and to her friends of her own class, she often expressed a dread 
of what would be done " when she was too far gone to know," 
and entreated them to see that the ministers of her own Church 
only attended her dying bed, and that her body should be laid 
nowhere but in the churchyard, "with her own kith and kin." 

Singularly enough, her summons came during the enforced 
absence of both rector and curate from the parish, in the shape 
of a fit, which deprived her of speech ; I will not say positively, 
of entire consciousness, but sure I am that she, never too strong 
in intellect, was so far enfeebled as to render its owner quite 
incapable of decision. The curate of the next parish was sum- 
moned as quickly as possible, and requested to give her the 
Holy Communion, if he judged it right in her then state. His 
opinion was, that, being unconscious, she was incapable of re- 
ception ; and he left, begging those around her to send for him 



286 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

if she rallied. The next morning he called again, only to learn 
that she had seen the Roman Catholic priest, and from him 
received the last rites of his Church. Shortly afterwards she 
was buried with considerable display in the burying-ground 
attached to the Roman Catholic chapel. 

A Priest's Wife. 
Aug. 27, 1875. 

I cannot dismiss this part of my subject without 
dealing with a brief charge made against Mr. Hawker 
by certain correspondents in the papers. They did 
not shrink from charging him with having been for 
many years a Roman Catholic at heart, only holding 
on his position of the Church of England for the 
sake of the loaves and fishes it offered him. 

If I had considered there were grounds for this 
charge, his life would never have been written by 
me. 

How far Mr. Hawker was a consenting party to the 
reception, how far he had gone towards contemplat- 
ing such a change when incapacitated by paralysis 
from forming a decision, I cannot decide. The testi- 
mony is conflicting. I hesitate to believe that it was 
his intention to leave the Church of England before 
he died. He was swayed* this way or that by those 
with whom he found himself. He was vehement in 
one direction one day, as impetuous in another 
direction on the day following. A reviewer in "The 
Athenaeum " quotes the following passages from 
letters. Referring to blessed candles and supplies 
of holy water which he obtained from a Roman- 
Catholic family in the neighborhood, he wrote, in 
1855, "You know well how I am watched, and with 



CHARGED WITH INCONSISTENCY. 287 

what malignity every brother-rascal of mine seizes 
every fibre of my life for attack;" and entreats 
secrecy. But for what did he solicit these articles ? 
Was it for himself ? and, if so, was it not through 
superstition against witches, as he used horse-shoes 
and folded fingers? In 1862 he wrote of the con- 
version of a friend, a clergyman, " I have heard to-day 

that is now a Catholic. I don't know any one 

whose reception gave me more delight. I yearn for 
the conversion of Cornwall." Another grave pas- 
sage has reference to the bidding prayer of his visi- 
tation sermon at Launceston. In allusion to the 
passage, "Ye shall pray for the Holy Catholic 
Church, especially for that branch thereof whereto 
we belong," he wrote, "My 'bidding prayer' was 
one of the most libellous supplications ever penned." 
I have not seen the context of these letters. I asked 
to be allowed to see them when I was forming my 
estimate of Mr. Hawker's opinions and character, 
and was refused. The expressions are strong ; but 
a neighbor has explained one of them to me satis- 
factorily, for Mr. Hawker used the same expression 
at the time to him. The libellousness of the bidding 
prayer was not an allusion to the English Church, 
but to an interpolation he made in it denying the 
supremacy of the Queen in things spiritual. The 
conversion of Cornwall was from Methodism, not 
necessarily to Romanism. There are passages in 
letters and sermons quite as strong in an opposite 
direction. It is impossible to reconcile them. It is, 
perhaps, not worth attempting. The man was an 
anomaly ; a combination of contradictory elements, 



288 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN- HAWKER. 

conflicting characteristics, and mutually destructive 
opinions. I believe he was perfectly sincere in what 
he said and did ; but he said and did at one time 
exactly the reverse of what he said and did at an- 
other. The master power, the balance-wheel, of a 
well-ordered judgment was left out of his composi- 
tion. This is, if I mistake not, the key to this 
psychological puzzle. 

No one who knew Mr. Hawker intimately, not one 
of his nearest relatives, his closest friends to whom 
he opened his heart, can believe that he was a con- 
scious hypocrite. If there was one quality which 
was conspicuous in his character, it was his open- 
ness. He could not act a part, he could not retain 
unspoken a thought that passed through his brain, 
even when common judgment would have deemed 
concealment of the thought advisable. He was 
transparent as a Dartmoor stream ; and all his 
thoughts, beliefs, and prejudices lay clearly seen in 
his mind, as the quartz and mica and hornblende par- 
ticles on the brook's white floor. 

If there was one vice which, with his whole soul, 
he abhorred, it was treachery in its every form. 

" Be true to Church, be kind to poor, 
O minister, forevermore ! " 

were his lines cut by him over his vicarage-door. 

A year or two ago the rector of Kilkhampton was 
about to go to Exeter to preach an ordination service 
in its cathedral. The vicar of Morwenstow said to 
him, " Go, and bid the young men entering the holy 
ministry be honest, loyal, true." Is that the exhor- 



TRANSPARENCY OF CHARACTER. 289 

tation of a man conscious in his own heart that he is 
a traitor ? 

One day, not long ago, he was in Kilkhampton, 
and entered the house of an old man, a builder, 
there. 

The old man said, to him, "You know, Mr. Hawker, 
what names you have been called in your day. They 
have said you were a Roman Catholic." 

" Hockeridge," answered Mr. Hawker, standing in 
the midst of the floor, and speaking with emphasis, 
" I am a priest of the Church, of the Church of God, 
of that Church which was hundreds of years before 
a Pope of Rome was thought of." 

A clergyman in the diocese of London, who knew 
him well, thus writes : — 

" I think I never read any announcement with greater sur- 
prise than that the late vicar of Morwenstow^ had, shortly before 
his death, been 'received' into the Church of Rome. Mr. 
Hawker and I were intimate friends for a number of years, and 
there were few matters connected either with himself or those 
near and dear to him on which he did not honor me with his 
confidence. It was just a year ago that I spent some days with 
him, shortly after his visit to London, to collect funds for the 
restoration of his interesting church, among the scenes he 
loved so well ; and I feel perfectly assured, had he then medi- 
tated such a step, or had he so much as allowed it to assume a 
form in his mind, however indefinite, it would have been among 
the subjects of our converse. Nothing, however, was more 
contrary to the fact. I am certain that at that time not an idea 
of such a thing occurred to him. I received most confidential 
letters from him down to a short period before his death ; and 
there is not a line in them which hints at any change in those 
opinions which had not only become part of himself, but which, 
as opportunity offered, he was accustomed to defend with no 



290 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

small amount either of logic or of learning. My friend was a 
man of profound learning, of very great knowledge of passing 
events, and able to estimate aright the present aspect of the 
Church and her difficulties. He was also a man of transparent 
honesty of purpose, of the nicest sense of honor, ^nd of bold 
and fearless determination in the discharge of his duties. On 
two matters he was an enthusiast, — the scenery and the early 
Christian history of his beloved Cornwall, and, which is more 
to my purpose, the position and rights of the Church of which 
he was, in my most solemn belief, a dutiful and faithful priest. 
He was never weary of asserting her claim as the Catholic 
Church of England, possessed of orders as good as those of 
any other branch of the Sacred Vine, and alone possessed of 
the mission which could make their exercise available. His 
very aspect was that of the master in Israel, conscious of his 
indubitable position, and whose mind was thoroughly made up 
on questions about which many other men either have no cer- 
tain opinions, or at least have no such ground for holding them 
as that with which his learning and acuteness at once supplied 
him. Such was the late vicar of Morwenstow, — one of the 
very last men in England to leave the Church of which he 
gloried to be a priest, of whose cause he was at all times the 
most unyielding defender, and in whose communion it was his 
hope and prayer to die." 

A writer in one of the daily papers Spoke of his 
wearing secretly a medal blessed by the Pope ; but 
when this statement comes to be examined by those 
who were about him, his nieces, who staid in his 
house, and others who saw him constantly, it resolves 
itself into a very small affair indeed. A college friend 
visited Italy at the time of the consecration of Pio 
Nono, in 1846, and brought back a number of medals 
struck on the occasion, some of which he gave to Mr. 
Hawker. These he kept with a lot of other curiosi- 
ties, such as manna from the wilderness of Sinai, a 



CURIOSITIES. 



291 



bit of stone from the temple at Jerusalem, olive-wood 
from the Garden of Gethsemane, some leaves from 
the tree that overhung Napoleon's tomb at St. Helena, 
and sand from St. Paul's cave at Malta. Visitors 
were fond of giving him little curiosities they had 
picked up on their travels, and these he treasured. 
That with mock solemnity he may have told some 
credulous visitor a ridiculous tale about the medals, 
is possible enough. At one time he exhibited, out 
of mischief, a scrap of isinglass, which he said was 
a bit of the Pope's toe-nail, bitten off by his friend 
when bowing to kiss his foot, and carried away in his 
mouth ; and he would show garnets as the sand of 
the Red Sea. 

He gave away these medals, and many other of 
his curiosities of which he had duplicates. He wore 
one with his bunch of seals and keys, not secretly, 
but openly, and along with various coins presented 
to him, and the gold medal he had made out of the 
nugget sent him from California by a mariner who 
had been shipwrecked on his beach, and whom he 
nursed in his vicarage. 

I have been given for perusal a number of Mr. 
Robert Stephen Hawker's letters, written to his 
most intimate and loved friends ; and in not one of 
them have I traced the slightest token but of un- 
wavering fidelity to his Church,' of perfect confidence 
in the validity of her ministry and sacraments, — 



1 The only expression of this sort is one written after the Gorham judg- 
ment, of doubt whether the Church of England would stand after that sanction- 
ing of the denial of baptismal r^eneration. Then many hearts were disturbed 
as to the future. 



292 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

points on which he dwelt repeatedly in his sermons, 
on which he leaned his whole teaching. 

At the same time I think it possible, that during 
the last year or two of his life, when failing mentally 
as well as bodily, and when laboring under the excite- 
ment or subsequent depression caused by the opium 
he ate to banish pain, he may have said, or written 
recklessly, words which are capable of being twisted 
into meaning a change of views. But none came 
under my notice when writing this book, or I would 
frankly have stated the fact. I have labored, above 
all things, in this book, to give a true picture of the 
man I describe : I have not painted an ideal portrait. 

In " The Field of Rephidim," a visitation sermon 
written by him for delivery before the bishop, in 
1845, he gave utterance to sentiments with regard to 
the Church of England, from which I see no evidence 
to justify me in believing that he ever swerved. He 
may have felt alarm for her fate in the storms assail- 
ing her, doubted the fidelity of the pilots guiding 
her; but I do not think, from any letter that has 
come under my notice, from any word that has 
dropped from his lips in the hearing of those whom 
he most trusted, from any act of his done when un- 
fettered by paralysis, that he disbelieved in her, and 
was prepared to disown her as his mother.^ 

These are his words : — 



1 This sermon was delivered for him by Mr. Harper, the curate of Stratton, 
as his father died the day before the visitation. It was preached June 27, 1845, 
and published by Edwards & Hughes, 12 Ave-Maria Lane, and T. Bums, 17 
Portman Street, London, 1845. 

2 I would draw attention also to the sernaon in Appendix B. 



MR. I/A IVKER 'S VTSITA TION SERMON. 293 

" It is a function of the chief shepherds to defend the flock 
from the secret or open ravages of heresy and schism ; more 
especially here in England, and in these troublous times, it be- 
hooves them to watch and ward against all attempted return 
to the old innovation by the See and Bishop of Rome. For 
the transit of our apostolic lineage through Romish times in 
England is like the temporary passage of a well-known foreign 
river through one circumfluent lake ; wherein, although the 
waters intermingle a little as they glide, yet the course of the 
mighty Rhone is visible throughout, in distinct and unbroken 
existence ! So it is with us who have inherited the genealogy 
of the apostles in these lands : we came from British fountains, 
we flowed in Saxon channels, we glided through Romish waters, 
but we were not, we are not, we will not be, of Rome ; for we will 
preserve, God willing, the unconquered courses of our own an- 
cestral stream." 

The following letter, which has reached me since 
the publication of the first edition of my book, will 
show the depths of depression into which Mr. Hawker 
fell at times so far back as 1848, and they were even 
deeper towards the close of his life. I insert the 
letter here as evidence of that extremely desponding 
frame of mind which renders me unwilling to take 
his utterances in regard to his Church literally, as I 
am unwilling to understand those literally in which 
he speaks with extreme longing for death, not with 
the calm resignation and hope with which St. Paul 
expressed the same desire, but with a loathing of life 
which is characteristic of an unhealthy frame of mind. 

Feb. 13, 1848. My dear William, — You say you have not 
heard from me for some time, but I do think I wrote you last ; 
and, if not, what good can my letters do, — I, whose daily prayer 
is for death, — I, the corpse .'' Never yet was a man crushed as 
I have long been. William, I have not smiled for months. I 



294 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

am never free from that dull, deadly, dragging weight on the 
diaphragm, which men may be thought to feel in the interval 
between sentence and a cruel death. My days, my hours, are 
numbered here : I shall not be in Morwenstow at the close of 
1848. Would to God I may ere then be hidden out of sight! 
I have no thing, no one, to live for, — no single reason why, if I 
were asked by an angel, I should wish to remain. I loathe life, 
and I yearn for death as some men do for wealth or rank. I 
would kiss the hand of any man who gave me to drink some 
deadly thing. Oh, may God bless you, my dear boy, and make 
you unlike me ! 

Yours ever, R. S. Hawker. 

And now my Mrork is done. I have written truth- 
fully the life of this most remarkable man : I have 
taken care to "nothing extenuate, nor aught set down 
in malice." I cannot more worthily conclude my 
task than with the peroration of Mr. Hawker's visi- 
tation sermon, already quoted. 

" The day is far spent, and the night is at hand : the hour 
Cometh wherein no man can work. A little while, and all will 
be over. 'Their love, and their hatred, and their envy, will 
have perished ; neither will they any longer have a name under 
the sun.' The thousand thoughts that thrill our souls this day, 
with the usual interests and the common sympathies of an 
earthly existence, — of all these there will not, by and by, sur- 
vive in the flesh a single throb. This, our beloved father in 
the Church, will have entered into the joy of his Lord, to pre- 
fer, perchance, in another region, affectionate supplications for 
us who survive and remain. We, who are found worthy, shall 
be gathered to a place and people where the strifes and the 
controversies of earth are unnoted and unknown. 'Violence 
shall no more be heard in that land, wasting nor destruction 
within its borders ; but they shall call the gates Salvation, and 
the walls Praise. There the envy of Ephraim shall depart, and 



MR. HAWKER'S VISITATION SERMON. 295 

the adversaries of Judah shall be cut off: Ephraim shall not 
envy Judah, and Judah shall not vex Ephraim.' 

" Nevertheless all will not perish from the earth. That which 
hath done valiantly in the host will not glide away into a land 
where all things are forgotten. Although the sun may go down 
while it is yet day, it shall come to pass that at evening-tide 
there shall be light. Moses is dead, and Aaron is dead, and 
Hur is gathered to his fathers also ; but, because of their 
righteous acts in the matter of Rephidim, their memorial and 
their name live and breathe among us for example and admoni- 
tion still. So shall it be with this generation. He, our spirit- 
ual lord, whose living hands are lifted up in our midst to-day, 

— he shall bequeath to his successors, and to their children's 
children, the eloquent example and the kindling heritage of his 
own stout-hearted name. And we, the lowlier soldiers of the 
war, — so that our succor hath been manifest and our zeal true, 

— we shall achieve a share of humble remembrance as the 
duteous children of Aaron and of Hur. 

" They also, the faithful few, who have lapped the waters of 
dear old Oxford, and who were the little company appointed to 
go down upon the foe with the sword of the Lord and of Gideon, 
and to prevail — honor and everlasting remembrance for their 
fearless names! If, in their zeal, they have exceeded; if, in 
the dearth of sympathy, and the increase of desolation, they 
should even yet more exceed — nay, but do Thou, O Lord God 
of Jeshurun, withstand them in that path, if they should for- 
sake the house of the mother that bare them for the house of 
the stranger ! 

" Still let it never be forgotten, that their voices and their 
volumes were the signals of the dawn that stirred the heart of 
a slumbering people with a shout for the mastery. Verily, they 
have their reward. They live already in the presence of future 
generations ; and they are called, even now, by the voices yet 
unborn, the giants of those days, the mighty men that were of 
old, the men of renown ! 

"Whosoever shall win the war, whatsoever victories may 
wait hereafter on the armies of the living God, it shall never 
fail from the memory and heart of England, who and what 



296 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 

manner of men were they that, when the morning was yet 
spread upon the mountains, arose, and went down to the host, 
and brake the pitcher, and waved the lamp, and blew the trum- 
pet in the face of Midian ! 

" God Almighty grant that they and their adversaries, and 
we ourselves also, may look on each other's faces, and be at 
rest, one day, in the city of God, among the innumerable com- 
pany of angels, and the first-born whose names are written in 
heaven, and the spirits of just men made perfect, and Jesus the 
Mediator of the new covenant, through the blood of sprinkling 
that speaketh better things than that of Abel ! " 



APPENDICES. 



298 



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Lady Grace Grenville . 
Lady Grace Grenville . 



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302 APPENDIX B. 



APPENDIX B. 



SERMON BY REV. R. S. HAWKER. 

PREACHED AT LAUNCESTON, 1865. 

"Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world." 
(Matt, xxviii. 20.) 

The election of the Jewish people from among the nations 
had fulfilled its promised end. Their fortunes had displayed 
the alliance between transgression and punishment, obedi- 
ence and reward, in the temporal dispensations of God ; 
and suggested an analogy between these and the spiritual 
allotments of a state future and afar. They had treasured 
up, with a reverence approaching to superstition, the literal 
language of the old inspiration, the human echo of the voice 
of the Lord. But the national custody of prophetic evi- 
dence and typical illustration was no longer demanded from 
those guardians of the oracles of God. Prediction had been 
fixed and identified by event, and type had expired in sub- 
stantive fulfilment. The ritual also of the old covenant was 
one of fugitive and local designation. The enactments of 
their civil code anticipated miraculous support ; and, had 
this been vouchsafed to many nations, miracle, instead of an 



APPENDIX B. 303 

interruption in the harmony of nature, would have been in 
the common order of events. The observance, again, of 
their ceremonial law, restricted to one temple and a single 
altar, was impracticable to all save those in the vicinity of 
that particular land ; many, indeed, were merely possible 
under pecuHar adaptations of climate, manners, and govern- 
ments. Even the solemn recognition of the old morality 
embodied in the Scripture of Moses, and made imperative 
by the signature of God ; inasmuch as it ^exacted utter obe- 
dience, and yet indicated no ceremonial atonement for de- 
fect, was another argument of a mutable creed. The impress 
of change, the character of incompletion, were traceable on 
every feature of the ancient faith. The spirit of their reli- 
gion, as well as the voice of prophecy, announced that the 
sceptre must depart from Judah, and a new covenant arrive 
for the house of Israel. It was not thus with the succeed- 
ing revelation. When the fulness of time was come (that 
is to say, when the experiment of ages had ascertained the 
Gentile world that the sagacity of man was inadequate to 
the counsels of God), and when the long exhibition of a 
symbolic ritual by the chosen Israelites had conveyed signifi- 
cant illustration of the future and final faith, God sent his 
Son. Then was brought to light the wisdom and coherence 
of the one vast plan. The history of man was discovered 
to be a record of his departure from a state of original 
righteousness (after the intervention of a preparatory reli- 
gion) and eternal existence, and his restoration thereto by a 
single Redeemer for all his race. For this end, the Word, 
that is to say, the Revealer, was made flesh. That second 
impersonation of the sacred Trinity " took our manhood into 
God." The Godhead did not descend, as of old, in partial 
inspiration, nor were its issues restrictive and particular to 
angel or prophet ; but, because the scheme about to be de- 
veloped was to be the religion of humanity, its Author iden- 



304 APPENDIX B. 

tified himself with human nature, and became, in his own 
expressive language, the Son of man. He announced, in 
the simple solemnity of truth, the majestic errand' of his 
birth, — to save sinners ; repealed, by a mere declaration, 
every previous ritual, and substituted one catholic worship 
for the future earth. Now, the elements of durability were 
blended with every branch of this new revelation. Firstly, 
unlike the old covenant, it had no kingdom of this world, it 
depended on no peculiar system of political rule, interfered 
not with any civil right, but submitted to every ordinance of 
man as supreme to itself. The Christian faith was obviously 
meant to cohere with the political constitution of any coun- 
try and all lands ; to be the established religion of republic 
or monarchy according to the original laws, or any funda- 
mental compact between ruler and realm ; as, for example, 
this our Church of England received solemn recognition as 
a public establishment, and had assurance of the future pro- 
tection of her liberties and privileges unharmed, in the Char- 
ter of King John. The new ceremonial usages again were 
as watchfully calculated for stability, as the forms of the old 
law had been pregnant with change. The simplicity of bap- 
tism — that rite of all nations — was invested with a sacra- 
mental mystery, and constituted the regenerative and intro- 
ductory rite of a vast religion. 

One sacrifice, and that to be offered not again, was exhib- 
ited upon Mount Calvary, that last altar of earthly oblations ; 
and the sources of redemption were thenceforth complete. 
The memory of this scene was to be perpetuated, and it* 
benefits symbolized and conveyed, by an intelligible solem- 
nity, common to all countries, and attainable wheresoever 
two or three were gathered together in his name. The 
moral law proceeding on the perpetuity of natural obligation 
entered of necessity into the stipulations of the new cove- 
nant. But it was no longer fettered in operation by a literal 



APPENDIX B. 305 

Decalogue ; no longer repulsive from its stern demand for 
uncompromising obedience. Its enactments were trans- 
ferred by the Founder of Christianity into the general and 
enlarged principles of human action, and defect in its observ- 
ance supplied by an atonement laid up or invested in the 
heavens. But not only was this alteration of doctrine and 
ceremony made from transitory to eternal : the law being 
changed, there arrived of necessity a change in the priest- 
hood also. The temporary functions of the race of Aaron 
were superseded by the ordination of a solemn body of men, 
whose spiritual lineage and clerical succession should be as 
perpetual as the creed they promulgated. 

The scene recalled by our text is that of the shore of 
Genesareth, whereon stood the arisen Lord, with the eleven 
men. Thence the sons of Zebedee, and others among 
them, had departed at his mere command from their occu- 
pation of the waters, and had become the followers of his 
path of instruction in Judaea, and Samaria, and Galilee. 
They had seen the supernatural passage of his life in wonder 
and in sign. They had gradually imbibed the doctrines of 
his mouth ; for them he had given unto the olive and the 
vine the voice of instruction, and hung, as it were, a parable 
on every bough. Yxoxa. the cross of shame, indeed, they 
had shrunk in shuddering dismay. But then, faith revived 
with his resurrection, and they were permitted to identify his 
arisen body. And now they beheld him on that accustomed 
spot, the apparent Conqueror of death, from whose grasp he 
had returned, the Author of that second life, the breath 
which he breathed into his new-founded Church ; the evi- 
dent Lord of — in his own declaration — all power in heaven 
and on earth. 

In the first ordination of Christian antiquity, the Son of 
God invested with his last authority the apostles of his 
choice : " Go ye into all the world, and proclaim the glad- 



306 APPENDIX B, 

dening message unto every creature. Make disciples in all 
nations by baptism into the religion and worship of the 
Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost." 

Such was the tenor of that awful commission which they 
had to undertake and discharge. It was conferred at that 
hour on none beside, imparted with no lavish distribution 
to a multitude of disciples, but restricted to the blessed 
company of apostles ; and by implication to those whom 
they in after-time might designate and ordain, save that the 
supernatural interference of the same Lord in the vocation 
of particular apostles might and did afterwards occur. 

Who is sufficient for these things ? must have been the 
conscious, though unuttered, question of every apostolic 
heart at that hour of awe. The fishermen of Bethsaida to 
arise from their nets to convert the nations ! Unknown GaH- 
laeans to compel the homage of distant and enlightened cit- 
ies to the Crucified ! The Searcher of hearts, aware of their 
natural diffidence and usual fear, therefore gave them assur- 
ance that the purifying and instructing Spirit he had prom- 
ised should descend upon them at Jerusalem, and that 
miracle and sign should attend their ministei-ial path ; and 
then, to banish the apprehension and awaken the courage of 
his succeeding servants, he uttered to those representatives 
of the Christian clergy the consolation of our text, — a 
catholic promise to a cathoUc Church, — " Lo, I am with 
you always, even unto the end of the world." Amply was 
that pledge redeemed, that promise fulfilled ! After not 
many days, urged onward by the impulse of the descended 
Spirit, upheld by the conscious presence of their invisible 
Lord, the apostles, from the guest-chamber of Jerusalem 
proceeded on their difficult path. Peril and hostility were 
on every side. On the one hand, the Jews, haughty and 
stubborn, clung to the altars of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, 
and would not have " that man to reign over them." On the 



APPENDIX B. 307 

Other hand, the Gentiles, absorbed in the indulgence of a 
luxuriant superstition, were unlikely to forego the gods of 
their idolatry, and elect from among the various formularies 
of worship the adoration of Jesus of Nazareth. Yet might- 
ily grew the word of the Lord, and prevailed. Not only 
were Jewish converts counted in vast multitudes beneath the 
eloquence of St. Peter and St. John, but, in Gentile coun- 
tries, a tent-maker of Tarsus obtained much people in every 
city. The mantle of the apostles descended on early mar- 
tyrs and succeeding saints, until, not four centuries after the 
ascension of its Lord, the yoke of Christianity was on the 
neck of men having authority. A vast empire was docile to 
its tenets, and a conqueror was found to inscribe on his ban- 
ner the symbol of human redemption, the wood of shame. 

These, it may be urged, were days of miracle and sign. 
They were so ; but it was only because prodigy and super- 
natural proof were the chief exigencies of those times. 
The supply of grace — by which word I understand aidance 
Divine imparted to human endeavor — was not intended to 
be uniform or redundant, but ''by measure." Thus the 
display of the co-operation declared in our text, and the 
contribution of the Holy Ghost to the structure and sta- 
bility of the apostolic Church, these were to be accorded in 
rigid proportion to time and circumstance, and local need. 
When that Church, built upon the rock of a pure confession, 
and reared by the succeeding hands of apostles and saints, 
had survived the wrath of early persecution, and baffled 
the malice of Pagan antiquity, then, in the next section of 
her history, heresy and schisms within her walls tried her 
foundations, and assayed her strength. In this peril he was 
with her always, — vouchsafed other manifestations of his 
presence and his power. Wise and courageous champions 
" for the faith once delivered to the saints " appeared on the 
scene, clad with faculty and function obviously from on high. 



308 APPENDIX B. 

The warfare of controversy produced the exposition of error 
and the triumph of truth. Those sound statements of the 
Triune Mystery and the attributes of the Second Person 
therein, which we confess in our Nicene and Athanasian 
formularies, were documents deduced from those Arian and 
SabeUian dissensions which they were embodied to refute. 
The suggestions of Pelagianism, again, in the succeeding 
era, tended to the more accurate definition of Scriptural 
doctrine on the union of Divine with human agency in the 
conduct of man ; and the experiment of centuries afforded 
ample comment on the text of the apostle, that " heresies 
must needs be, in order that the orthodox might appear." 
True it is that in the following times, under Papal encroach- 
ment, a long period of lowering superstition was permitted 
to threaten the primitive doctrine and distort the liturgical 
simplicity of the Church of Christ ; yet even then the fire 
of the apostolic lips was not wholly quenched. The sudden 
impulse given to the human mind by the appeal of Luther, 
proved that the elements of early faith yet endured, — that 
the former spirit was breathing still, and awaited only that 
summons to respond to the call. The success of that 
German monk, and the other lowly instruments whereby a 
vast work was wrought, exhibited another interference of 
that supernatural succor promised by our text. The fortunes 
of our Church of England, since that reformation, have 
been somewhat given to change. Once her sanctuaries 
have been usurped, and often her walls assailed. Evil men 
have "gone round about our Sion, and told the towers 
thereof, and marked well her bulwarks," but with hostile 
intent. The present days are not without their danger ! 
Still we hitherto remain. Still we have the promise of the 
text sounding in our ears. Still have we the contribution of 
our own endeavors to sustain the spiritual fabric whereto we 
belong. The circumstances that originate with ourselves 



APPENDIX B. 309 

to impair our ecclesiastical validity appear to be, firstly, 
a spirit of concession. The right hand of paternity is too 
often extended, when the glove over Edom, the gauntlet of 
defiance, should be cast down, and the sword of the Spirit 
grasped to combat and refute. Dissent may be inseparable 
from religious freedom, as prejudice and error are congenital 
with the human mind. But the wanderers from our disci- 
pline and doctrine forget that they have voluntarily de- 
stroyed their identity with the flock ; freely abandoned 
the pasture and refuge of the true fold ; and have wilfully 
resigned all inheritance in its spiritual safety and in the 
secular advantage which may thereto accidentally belong. 
If, then, through some narrow gate of misconception or error 
they have "gone from us because they were not of us," 
they cannot, in honesty, look that it should be widened for 
their re-admittance, when that return, too, is with unfavor- 
able design towards us and ours. Far be it from me to 
display unnecessary hostility towards any sect or denomina- 
tion of men ! but if, as I conceive, it be in supposition, that, 
by some compromise of doctrine or ceremony on our part, 
future stability may accrue to this Church of England, let us 
remember that Divine co-operation is not proposed to un- 
worthy means, and that recorded experiment hath shown 
that it were even better that the Ark of God should tremble, 
than that the hand of Uzzah should sustain its strength. 

One other source of future insecurity may be appre- 
hended from the growth of vanity in theological opinion and 
private interpretation among the members of our own body. 
For example, it is matter of lamentation, that the terms 
"orthodox" and "evangelical" should have attained con- 
trasted usage in a Church whose appellations, like her doc- 
trines, should be catholic and one. As in the perilous time 
of the early Corinthian Church, the existence of divisions 
in practice extorted the indignant expostulations of St. Paul, 



3IO APPENDIX B. 

SO, in these days of danger, it behooves every sincere friend 
to ecclesiastical order, to deprecate the exhibition of in- 
ternal diversity, either on questionable doctrine or custom 
indifferent, to the surrounding foe. Better it were that those 
energies which are dissipated on the shibboleths of party, 
were applied, in unison, to the vindication and honor of the 
general Church ! The theory of ministerial operation might 
appear to be, that every ap>ostolic officer of Christ should 
combine, with the intrepid discharge of his own duty, a 
corporate anxiety for the common weal ; that each of us 
should convey his personal stability as a contribution to the 
strength of our spiritual structure, and regard the graces of 
individual ministry as instrumental to the decoration of a 
general edifice, built upon the foundation of the apostles 
and jyrophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief Corner- 
stone. To this end, the solemnity of that function which 
the apostolic clergy have to discharge is in itself argument 
and exhortation. Unto them was transferred the especial 
guardianship and authoritative exposition of the oracles of 
God. By them alone the Founder of their faith gave prom- 
ise to infuse sacramental advantage into the souls of men. 
The pledge and reward, the privileges and hopes, of Chris- 
tian Scripture, regard that Universal Church wherein they 
hold pastoral rank from the Chief Shepherd, to bind and 
loose, shut and enclose in his earthly fold. The constant 
remembrance of these things might both kindle zeal, and 
repress presumption ; for, though the office be " but a little 
lower than the angels," how can we forget that it is intrusted 
to frail and erring men? The train of thought suggested 
by a retrospect of these remarks is, that the erection of our 
enduring Church was always the hopeful predestination, — 
the original intent of God ; that three periods of revelation 
absorb the spiritual history of man : the simple worship of 
the patriarchal times ; that rudiment of religion, the particu- 



APPENDIX B. 311 

lar, but mutable and transitory, covenant of Moses ; and the 
catholic faith which we confess. In this last inspiration, all 
doctrine and usage, stationary and complete, are final ; and 
we approach in this concluding dispensation the threshold 
of eternity ; and the text has announced the prophecy of 
the Revealer, that the official existence of its ministers shall 
expire only with the close of time. Local illustration of this 
durability is extant in our own ecclesiastical records. What 
changes have ghded over the land since these towers of the 
past were set upon our hills, the beacons of the eternity 
whereto they lead ! What alternations of poverty and 
wealth, of apprehension and hope, have visited those who 
have served at their altars ! times of vigor and decay ! And 
yet we have assembled this day to exhibit our adoration to 
the one true God, and Jesus Christ whom he hath sent, in 
this surviving sanctuary " gray with his name ; " but the 
voice of history, that prophet of the past, affords us full as- 
surance of hope for the future continuance of our beloved 
Church. Vicissitudes may approach, but not destruction ; 
external attack, but no intrinsic change ! Whatsoever the 
hand of sacrilege may perpetrate on the temporal fortunes 
of the Church of England, these are accessory but not es- 
sential to her spiritual existence. Howsoever she may be 
despoiled of her earthly revenues, though silver and gold 
she had none, there would be much, apostolic and sacra- 
mental, that men must seek at her hands ; and with the 
memory of Him who uttered the consolation of the text, 
we confide, that, while England shall bear that name, in the 
imagery of the Psalmist, " The sparrow will find her a home, 
and the swallow a nest where she may lay her young, even 
thine altars, O Lord of Hosts, my King and my God ! " 
Because he will be with us in the control and guidance of 
human events, for all power is given unto him in heaven 
and on earth ; with us in the general anxiety of his provi- 



312 APPENDIX B. 

dence and the particular interference of his aid, since the 
Chief Shepherd must keep the watches of the night over 
his earthly fold ; with us ii. the issues common and minis- 
terial of his most Holy Spirit, which is in continual pro- 
cession from the Father and the Son, — Lo ! he is with us 
always, even unto the end of the world 1 



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